


Down and Dirty

by Sarahtoo



Series: Fantasy and Reality [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my story Coming Clean, when Jack and Phryne came together for the first time, they admitted that they’d been fantasizing about each other. This is a place to keep some of those fantasies. I think they’ll share some and maybe act them out; others they may not. I don’t have a long-term plan, so we’ll see where they go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack's Office

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by a comment from gaslightgallows - you have some great ideas, woman!

It was late at night, and the station was quiet. Jack was working his way through the paperwork necessitated by his most recent case. He worked as quickly as he could, because these days, finishing up meant that he could go home to Phryne, and he was eager to do that. The two of them still had separate residences, but Jack wasn’t using his much. He was feeling more and more at home at 221B, and he liked it that way. He liked being there, in Phryne’s bed, when she came home from a night out with her friends; she came home to him, often tipsy, and she’d usually take advantage of his presence there. He liked waking up with her, or at least, waking up next to her while she slumbered on. He liked breakfasting in the kitchen with Mr Butler and Jane before he headed out to start his workday. Occasionally, he and Hugh Collins would ride together to work, having met in the kitchen as Hugh brought his Dorothy to the house for the day.

Jack wondered whether he should continue to keep his flat. He knew that Phryne was unlikely to marry, but he was content with their current arrangement. He supposed that having his flat looked good politically; at his rank, it was important for him to present a morally sound face to the world, but eventually, it might become cumbersome to pretend to live apart from his life. On the other hand, it was convenient to have a completely private space to which he and Phryne could retire for an evening or a weekend. Her staff was wonderful, but it was sometimes nice to get away. He’d have to think about it, and talk with Phryne.

As Jack applied himself to his paperwork—almost finished—he paid little attention to the soft nighttime sounds of the station. The constable at the desk, a Daniel Johnson (Hugh Collins had gone home to his wife at the end of his shift), moved around that area, taking care of his responsibilities, and sometimes there was a cry or a snore from the holding cells that was loud enough to carry. But in general, it was quiet. So quiet that when he heard the clip-clop of high heels on the wood floor, he looked up, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.

“Hello, constable,” Jack heard Phryne say, and his mouth curled up in pleasure. “No, don’t get up, I’ll just go right on in.” And then she was in his doorway, lovely in a red-spangled dress and matching red high-heeled mary janes, a feathered fascinator bright against her night-dark hair. “Hello, Jack,” she said, pausing in the doorway to smile at him.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, stepping in and pulling the door closed behind her. He heard the faint _snick_ of the lock, and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh? And what would that be?” Jack sat up in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. She was definitely up to something, and he knew that whatever it was, he’d likely be equal parts thankful and mortified by the time she was done. Especially since she obviously had designs on his office.

“Well,” she drawled, dropping her black shawl over the back of the chair across his desk before moving to the other door. She quietly closed it as well, and he heard the lock engage. “I’ve been thinking about some of the naughty thoughts you’ve shared with me since we became lovers.”

“Have you?” Jack swallowed, running those conversations back through his mind. How many of his fantasies had been set in this office? Several. He wondered which one she had in mind. He shifted a little in his seat as he felt himself becoming aroused. He hoped that Constable Johnson was discreet, and not easily shocked.

“Yes,” she purred, stepping back around his desk to drop into his guest chair, leaning back against her shawl.

Jack tilted his head at Phryne, trying to read her mind. She tilted her head back at him, smiling slightly. Her eyes flicked down to his desk, then back up to his. Smirking, Jack rose. He knew which fantasy she had in mind now. He moved around the desk to perch there, hands at his sides, lightly grasping the desk’s edge. Phryne’s smile grew. Positioning herself in the chair directly in front of him, she pulled close, nudging his feet aside so that she could sit between them.

Eyes on Jack’s, Phryne placed her hands on his knees and slowly stroked her way up his thighs. She paused to press her hands against his groin, fingers grasping at his rapidly hardening length through the fabric of his trousers. Jack caught his breath; the feel of her hands on his cock as her eyes never left his was electric. He held her gaze, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Phryne mirrored the gesture as, with a small squeeze, she swept her hands up to his trouser fastenings and began, slowly, to release them.

When she reached into his trousers and smalls, Jack’s mouth fell open, his breathing growing heavier. Her gloved hands were soft, parting his shirttails to get to his skin, and scooping beneath his balls to pull them out along with his cock. Finally, her eyes dropped from his to what she had revealed, and she leaned forward to breathe a warm gust over him, fingers massaging gently. Jack’s hands contracted on the edge of the desk as he watched her. Phryne’s red-painted lips opened and she drew him into her mouth; the sight was erotic enough in itself to cause Jack’s stomach muscles to contract in reaction. He’d imagined this—no flesh-to-flesh contact between them but for her mouth on his cock—but her breath was far hotter than he had anticipated, and the slide of her tongue around his glans proved to be more detail than he’d allowed himself in fantasy. He moaned lightly, biting his lips together to keep the sound muffled.

Phryne could feel that Jack was enjoying this; she was enjoying the anticipation of making him come apart. The feel of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue, and the weight of him against her gloved hands combined into a single experience that had her clenching her thighs to keep her own arousal in check. Pulling more of him into her mouth, Phryne angled her head up to look at Jack. He was staring down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, lips pressed hard together, cheeks reddened. As she watched, he shuddered, and one of his hands left the edge of the desk to slide into her hair and clutch the back of her head. She swirled her tongue around him just so and his jaw clenched.

Phryne began to move, drawing her head back, then pressing forward again to take him deep into her throat. Flattening the hand she held beneath him, she slid her fingers into his trousers, pressing two of them to the smooth strip of skin behind his testicles while lightly rolling and pressing his balls with her palm and thumb. Each movement of her head was slow and smooth, her tongue swirling to increase the lubricant and decrease the friction. When she had him good and wet, she picked up the pace a bit, swallowing with each plunge onto him to massage his head with the muscles of her throat. When his second hand moved from the desk to the back of her neck, she knew he was almost there.

Jack could feel the shout of climax building in his throat. He knew that he could not allow it to escape, for fear that the constable just outside the door would decide to come and effect a rescue that Jack definitely didn’t need. He ground his teeth together, unable to smother the “unnnhhh” that echoed deep in his chest as Phryne did a particularly nimble thing with her tongue. Although he knew his fingers in her hair were gripping tightly, he managed to keep his arm and elbow loose to allow her to set the pace. He placed his second hand on the back of her neck, and the feel of the muscles there moving smoothly against his palm was hypnotic. When she raked her bottom teeth softly up the length of him as she withdrew, though, that hand flew up to cover his mouth—he needed the extra muffling to cover her name as he came gloriously hard.

When Jack was spent, Phryne withdrew, licking her lips delicately as she tucked Jack back into his pants, lipstick stains and all, and did up the fastenings. It amused her that he had come so hard, but he appeared just as buttoned up as he had been when she arrived. Standing, Phryne leaned into Jack and raised her mouth to his. He pulled her close and kissed her, relishing the taste of her mouth flavored with his own essence. Eventually, he broke the kiss.

“You are a very bad influence on me, Miss Fisher,” he growled.

“It was your fantasy, darling Jack!” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

He grinned in response. “Actually, I hope you’re planning to use that influence on me for quite some time.”

“I think I could cope with that,” she said, and she kissed him again. Pulling away, she drew out a compact to check the state of her face. She ran her fingers over her hair to smooth it, checking the positioning of her fascinator, and reapplied her lipstick. Jack watched her, hands loosely grasping the edge of the desk again, a small smile on his lips. When she was satisfied that she was ready to be seen, she picked up her shawl and swirled it around herself before moving to the door to unlock it.

“I’ll see you at home later, inspector,” she said, winking at him and blowing a kiss across her gloved palm before she swept out of his door.

 _I look forward to it, my love,_ Jack thought. And he went back to his paperwork, smiling.


	2. Phryne's Parlor

“Do you know,” Jack said one night, as they sat side by side on the chaise in the parlor, enjoying their whisky after dinner, “that when we used to do this, I often considered—even if only briefly—just ravishing you in this room?”

“Did you?” Phryne asked, delighted.

“Oh yes,” he confirmed, nodding slightly. “I was too unsure of the both of us at that point to do it, though. I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship. It had come to mean too much to me, and I thought I had to choose between a friendship and a short-lived sexual dalliance.”

“And you chose friendship,” she said, tilting her head back at him.

“It seemed the most likely to last, at the time.” He smiled at her, that full, sweet smile that she so rarely saw, even now, because it revealed so much of him. His eyes sparkled with happiness as they met hers. “And I wanted to be sure I had you for as long as possible. You were golden, and ‘nothing gold can stay.’”

“Well, had you chosen differently, I cannot say but what you’d have been right.” She sighed, snuggling into him. “I wasn’t ready for you then. It took the depth of our friendship before I could trust you with my heart. Well played, Jack.” Her smirk was lovely as she kissed him softly. “But…”

“Mmmm?” Jack’s bemused hum brought a full-fledged smile to Phryne’s face.

“I definitely wouldn’t have pushed you away, if you’d taken the ravishment route.”

“No?” Jack pulled his head back a little to get a better look at her face.

“No indeed,” she said, her hand on his knee sliding up his thigh. “It was one of my fantasies at the time, actually. That you and I would be standing there, by the fire, as we used to so often. And you would set your glass down on the mantel, as if you couldn’t withstand my teasing another moment, and you’d kiss me, hard.” Her voice had lowered to a purr, and her hand on his thigh was stroking now.

“And then?” Jack asked, knowing that this wouldn’t be the night for that particular beginning, but considering his options for fulfilling this fantasy of Phryne’s at some other time.

“Then, you’d take me down to the rug there, in front of the fire. You’d seduce me with your hands and your voice, and then…” She leaned on her stroking hand, squeezing as she reached up to whisper in his ear, and when she pulled away slightly, her tongue flicked out to tease his lobe.

“Right,” Jack said, and stood, scooping her up with him. She shrieked out a laugh as he carried her, tumbler and all, up the stairs to her bedroom.

 

*****

 

A few nights later, Jack followed Phryne into the parlor after dinner. He pulled the doors shut behind him; he’d made certain to let Mr Butler know that they were not to be disturbed. Taking the tumbler Phryne handed him, he walked over to stand by the fire, leaning on the mantel. Phryne joined him, standing perhaps slightly closer than had been their wont before they became lovers, but it would do.

As they stood there, chatting about the case they’d solved that day, Jack put his mind back to where it had been before he was certain of Phryne’s affection. He gathered up his remembered longing for her and infused it into his voice, which lowered slightly, and his gaze, which flicked constantly from her eyes to her mouth, red-painted as usual. He felt the love he had for her and the despair he’d used to feel about it building in his chest. His breathing deepened, and he knew that Phryne could feel the intensity of what he was feeling when her voice faltered, and she looked hard at him.

“… Jack?” She said, losing her train of thought entirely as she looked at him. His eyes were hooded with arousal, and his cheeks were flushed. What had she been talking about? Phryne locked eyes with her lover, and she could feel the _want_ emanating from him. It was almost as potent as it had been before they’d made love for the first time, and it called an answering arousal from her. She could feel her knickers dampening, just from the look in Jack’s eyes.

“Oh!” the sound wasn’t much more than an exhalation of breath as she realized his intentions.

Phryne shuddered in a breath, and Jack… pounced. Setting his tumbler on the mantel with a decisive _click_ , he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his, trying to communicate all the passion that was in him. She melted against him, and he took her tumbler before she could drop it, setting it next to his before bringing his hand up to the back of her hair. His kiss was demanding, and he held her tightly against his body, wanting her to know how much he wanted her. She arched into him, her hands sliding up over his shoulders to tangle in his hair.

“God, Phryne,” he rumbled against her mouth, “I want you so much.”

“Then take me, Jack Robinson,” she said from the same position. And that was all the encouragement he needed.

Jack’s hands slid to the tie at the front of her shrug as he continued to kiss her; when he’d managed to undo it, he pushed the shrug off of her shoulders, leaving her in her black trousers and an olive-green camisole that made her skin look luminescent. Jack moved his hands to the hem of the cami, pulling it up her body and over her head, baring her torso to his gaze. She wasn’t wearing a brassiere, as was her habit when they had no plans to go out for the evening, and her breasts were softly curved, her nipples just beginning to pebble. He studied them, as if for the first time, before slowing reaching to touch them with both hands.

Phryne’s arms had fallen to his shoulders after he’d removed her cami, and she moved one to stroke the back of his neck and the soft, short hair at the base of his skull. When his hands covered her breasts, tenderly, carefully, it was as if he’d never seen her before. His fingers stroked her skin worshipfully, his palms cupped her while he teased her nipples into hardness with the pads of his fingers. Raising his eyes to hers, he lightly pinched her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, and she let him see her gasp of pleasure and the arousal in her eyes before she kissed him again, wanting that beautiful mouth on hers.

After a few moments, Jack broke away, his left hand skimming around to spread against her back, and his head dipping to take her breast in his mouth. He laved her nipple with his tongue, then closed his lips around the peak and pulled lightly before letting go with a small _pop_.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin as he moved to repeat his attentions on her other breast. After her nipple was hard and her breathing was heavy, his mouth fastened to the underside of her breast and he suckled hard. She cried out at the sensation, and when he let her go, the sight of the small bruised mark he’d left sent a stab of pleasure through her. She pulled his head up to hers to take his mouth again, her tongue licking voraciously into his.

Still kissing her, Jack guided Phryne down to lie on the soft rug before the parlor hearth. When she was prone, he broke away, pushing himself up to discard his suit coat and waistcoat, and tossing them, along with his tie, to drape on the chaise lounge. As he undressed himself, Phryne’s hands swept to her breasts, squeezing them and rolling her nipples as she watched his bare flesh appear. Jack met her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs.

“I cannot wait to feel your skin against mine,” he growled, eyes hot. Whipping off his shirt, he quickly pulled his singlet over his head before lowering himself to kiss her once again.

“Jaaa-ack,” Phryne murmured when he broke the kiss and prowled over her as she lay before the fire. It was amazing; she could feel the desire radiating from him. She remembered how tightly wound they had been before they’d crossed the line and become lovers, and he obviously did too. She bit her lip in anticipation, and Jack smiled his small half-smile before he trailed kisses down her neck and over her collarbones. He stroked his face across her hands, where they still covered her breasts, and kissed the hollow between them before continuing down her body to her stomach. There, his hand came up to stroke her skin where he kissed it, rubbing his kisses in as he went.

He could feel Phryne’s hips shifting beneath him, telegraphing her arousal, and he moved his hand to the side fastenings of her trousers. Once she was unfastened, he slid that hand inside, cupping her bottom through the silk of her knickers. Pushing his opposite hand into her clothing on the other side of her hip, he pushed her trousers and her olive-green knickers down her legs, sweeping her skin with the tips of his fingers as he went. When he reached her bare feet, he swept the trousers off and tossed them and her knickers over his shoulder, giving Phryne a mock leer and eliciting a surprised laugh from her. Then he dived back in.

Starting at her feet, Jack pressed kisses up the length of one leg, then reversed directions and moved down the other. Lifting one of her knees, he kissed the tender skin behind it before stretching himself flat on the rug with her leg hooked over his arm, opening her entirely to his gaze. He looked at her for a moment, taking in the beauty that was this woman. Her slumberous eyes were locked on him, her chest was rising and falling heavily with her breath, and he could see the glistening moisture of her sex. Looking back to her face, he held her eyes as he lowered his mouth to her. Her thighs tightened, and her knee slid up to his shoulder; her hands reached down to tangle again in his hair, holding him close as he pleasured her.

As his tongue thrust into her, he swept his hand up and over her hip from where it had slid down to cup her bottom again and used his fingers on her clitoris. With his other hand, he came up from below to widen her labia with two fingers, one on either side of his mouth. The fingers on her clitoris plucked and pressed and rubbed until Phryne threw her head back, spine arching and a cry that might have been his name moaning out of her throat. Jack rode through the climax with her, and when her spasms subsided, he lifted his head and thrust two fingers into her, first pushing hard enough that he felt the dimple of her diaphragm at the top edge of his fingertips (thank God she’d taken to inserting the device in anticipation of their regular lovemaking), then curling them and searching for the spot that made her scream.

Phryne’s arms had fallen to her side with the release of her climax, but now she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. She licked her lips, panting a little, as his hand moved on—in—her body. Continuing to pump his hand between her thighs, Jack pushed himself up with his other hand, lifting her knee higher over his shoulder and widening her hips so that he could kneel up between them. Phryne helped by bending her other knee outward, her head falling back momentarily on her suddenly limp neck before raising again as if she could not see enough of him. Jack met her eyes again as he added a third finger between her legs, and put the fingers of the other hand to his mouth. He licked his fingers clean, relishing the taste of her on his skin, before reaching down to fumble at his trouser fastenings, increasingly desperate to release himself and get inside her.

Jack pushed his trousers down over his hips, one-handed, and pushed the thumb of his thrusting hand against Phryne’s clit. Planting his free hand on the floor next to her shoulder, he leaned over to kiss her again, pushing her thigh up against her chest; she lifted her head to meet his wild kiss. Jack couldn’t wait any longer. He withdrew his fingers from her and grasped his cock, guiding its head to the slick entrance of her body. As he sank into her, he groaned, her name soughing out of him, and she made a similar sound. Her knee at his hip lifted up and wrapped around him, her heel digging into his buttock; her other leg tightened on his shoulder, that heel pressing into his back.

“Yes, Jack,” she cried, “now, Jack!”

“Phryne,” his voice was so deep now that she could feel it vibrating between his chest and hers. “Love. You. So. Much.” Each word was punctuated by a thrust of his hips as he planted both hands on the floor and began to fuck her.

One of Phryne’s hands reached up to clutch at Jack’s neck, pulling him closer. Her mouth found the soft skin where his neck and shoulder joined, and she latched on, sucking hard. She wanted to mark him, to let the world know that this magnificent man was hers. She felt the length of him, hard and silken, hit the perfect spot inside her body. She focused on the feeling of him above, around, and within her. His breath groaned in his chest and she could feel his head angling down to bury his face in her hair. She pushed her chest into his, loving the press of her breasts to his skin. When he shifted his hips so that each thrust into her body also pressed his pelvis into her clitoris, she shattered, her teeth biting down around the bruise she’d made on his neck. Jack’s shout of release rang loud in her ear; she felt the hot sweet pulse of him deep inside her body as he stiffened, his hand moving to her hip to clutch her tightly against him.

Spent, both of their bodies limp, they held there for a moment. Then Jack rolled slightly off to the side, allowing her leg to slide from his shoulder down his arm again. She turned to nestle her head into his chest, kissing him softly just above one nipple, her hand lightly stroking the soft hair of his chest.

“That was…” she murmured, “just as amazing as I always hoped it would be.” She smiled. “I almost believed we were back in our early days, Jack, where every move was a tease, every meeting of the eyes an invitation.”

He chuckled softly, stroking her wildly tangled hair with one hand. “So it lived up to your fantasy, then?”

“And then some, darling,” she laughed. “I rather think that your talents on the stage have been vastly underestimated, though. With a performance like that, you could pack the crowds in!”

“I prefer the solo performance, love,” he said, chuckling. “Fewer people to see that I didn’t even manage to get my trousers all the way off.”

Phryne glanced down, and seeing his trousers tangled around his knees, began giggling helplessly. His laughter joined hers, ringing joyfully throughout the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In that first section, Jack’s quoting Robert Frost's poem _Nothing Gold Can Stay_ , which is sad but lovely: 
> 
> Nature’s first green is gold,  
> Her hardest hue to hold.  
> Her early leaf’s a flower;  
> But only so an hour.  
> Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
> So Eden sank to grief,  
> So dawn goes down to day.  
> Nothing gold can stay.
> 
> It feels to me kind of like Jack felt about Phryne, at least in the three seasons we’ve seen. He partly doesn’t think she can feel about him the way he feels about her, but he also thinks that anything they had together would have to be temporary. In my headcanon, he gets over that. :D


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff. Like a palate-cleanser, just to prime you for the next chapter.

Jack and Phryne were tucked up in bed side by side, companionably reading. It had been a long day. They’d spent the majority of it at the foreshore with Jane and her friends, picnicking and frolicking in the water. Jack had swum rings around the girls, and Phryne had cheered them on from the shore. She’d managed to resist his challenge to race, and instead lured him onto the shore with Mr Butler’s delicious sandwiches. The two of them had lounged on the blankets, watching the girls, Jack’s head in Phryne’s lap. They’d spoken of commonplace things, and eventually, lulled by the feel of Phryne’s fingers combing through his hair, Jack had napped a bit.

They’d returned to the Wardlow at the end of the day, sandy and tired. Mac had joined them, as had Hugh and Dot; Bert and Cec had come ’round, and they’d even managed to coax Mr Butler into sitting down with them all for the dessert he’d prepared. The lovely evening had culminated with a lively game of whiskey-fueled charades in the parlor (Jane stuck to lemonade) before everyone went off to their own homes or their beds for the night.

Now the two of them were propped up against the pillows, Jack wearing only his pajama bottoms and Phryne sporting the matching top, a state of undress that had become their habit on many a cozy evening in. With Phryne snuggled beside him, her head on his bare chest and her eyes on her book, Jack was content. He took a moment from his own reading to drop a kiss to her glossy cap of hair.

“Mmmm?” she said, her voice sounding drowsy.

“It’s nothing,” he replied quietly. “I was just sitting here, basking in the feeling of family that you manage to bring to life so easily.”

“What do you mean?” Phryne lifted her head and turned to look at him.

“Your family. Jane, Mac, Dot and Hugh, Mr Butler, even those two red-raggers.” Jack shrugged a bit. “You’ve made them into a family, even though they’re all so different. It’s rather wonderful.”

“And you, Jack,” she said, smiling softly at him. “You’re part of it too.”

“I am,” he confirmed, smiling himself. “And do you know, that’s been one of my fantasies too. To be part of your family. Thank you for making it come true.”

Phryne’s reply was simple—she leaned in and kissed him.


	4. Jack's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more sweet and fluffy for you. This is smut, pure and simple. Well, mostly.

“Did I ever tell you,” Phryne said, as she followed Jack into his bungalow. “That I dreamed of having you here while I was away?”

“What?” Jack said, chuffing out a laugh. “You hadn’t even been here then.”

“I know!” she said, smiling. “It was a challenge to my imagination, to be sure.”

“And what did you come up with, then?” His mouth turned into that frown that indicated he was trying to suppress a smile as he loosened his tie.

“Well,” she laughed, “I didn’t consider that you’d only have two wing chairs in your sitting room, so my couch fantasies had nowhere to go.”

He grinned, and she followed him down the hallway to his bedroom, where he shrugged off his jacket, waistcoat, and tie, hanging them up neatly before rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“And I didn’t consider that you wouldn’t have a bathtub,” she continued, perching on the edge of his bed, where she watched him with loving eyes as he made himself comfortable, toeing off his shoes and taking off his socks. “That put the kibosh on another of my lustful stories. Maybe I’ll share one that _does_ have possibilities—” here, her stomach growled, and Jack laughed out loud “—but not, apparently, until after we’ve eaten!” Her eyes crinkled good-humoredly up at him, her red lips open in a wide, unrepentant smile.

“I look forward to it, Miss Fisher,” he said, dropping a kiss on her lips before padding barefoot toward the kitchen.

Phryne pulled off her cloche and took off her own shoes and stockings. Then, after a moment’s thought, she pulled her simple blue satin dress over her head, took off her underthings, and slipped the dress back on. Then she made a quick trip into his bathroom to take care of necessities before heading into the kitchen to watch him cook.

He smiled at her over his shoulder as he assembled a simple meal of cheese toast and green beans fresh from his garden. She settled herself at one end of the kitchen table where she could watch him move, admiring how the muscles in his arms, legs, and buttocks shifted as he worked. They talked lightly of their current case, about the woman Phryne thought Mac might be seeing (though Mac hadn’t introduced her, Phryne was certain there was someone), about the dreamy look Jane got when talking about science. They ate their dinner companionably, sitting at right angles at the table and often reaching out to touch each other lightly.

Phryne finished her dinner and waited until Jack had taken the last bite of his before slanting him a look and raising an eyebrow.

“So, Jack,” she said, tilting her chin and pursing her lips. “Are you ready now to hear my fantasy about your house?”

Jack wiped his lips with his serviette, then placed it atop his plate on the table. “Ready when you are, Miss Fisher.” He crossed his hands over each other on the table, watching her with twinkling eyes, his mouth held in a serious line. “What part of my house strikes your fancy?”

In answer, she stood, gathering his plate and hers and removing them to the sink counter, setting them down carefully. Coming back to him, she stroked her hand over his shoulders, trailing her fingers down his arm before stopping next to him and hoisting herself up onto the kitchen table. Jack moved his hands to his lap as she slid in front of him, then carefully placed one foot on his chair to either side of his hips.

“I did consider,” she said, her tone musing, “that you might just have a kitchen, Jack.” Her eyes on his, she slid the shoulder strap of her dress down, holding it over her breasts with her opposite hand so that she could slip her arm out. “And I thought,” she drawled, repeating the maneuver with her other arm, so that her bodice was held up only by her hand across her chest, “that if you had a kitchen, you might just have a sturdy table in it.”

“That does seem like a practical kind of table to have,” he said, his low voice rubbing her skin like velvet. His eyes were following her movements, and she could tell that she was affecting him.

“And if,” she said, still holding her bodice up and sliding one foot up to the top of his thigh, where her toes began to knead like a cat’s, “the table was sturdy enough, it could follow that we might have a… meal… or two… at it.” With that, she slid her foot over to press against his crotch, lightly massaging the hardening length of him through his trousers.

“It’s certainly a theory,” Jack growled, his hands going to her knees and beginning a slow slide up and under the hem of her dress.

“A _good_ theory, Jack,” she said, putting a snap at the end of his name as she pushed with the foot on the edge of his chair just enough to lift her hips so that he could push her dress up and under her bottom.

“A very good theory, Miss Fisher,” he said, and grasping her naked hips with his hands, he raised up to capture her mouth with his.

Meeting him halfway, Phryne relished the flavor of him. He tasted lightly of sharp cheddar cheese and strongly of his own indefinable essence. Slightly spicy and ineffably sweet, his mouth held a savor that Phryne never tired of. She slid her hand into his hair—she loved the feel of his curls springing out of the pomade he used to keep them under control when he was being professional—and devoured him. The feeling of the cool wood beneath her bare bottom and of his large hands pulling her hips closer to the edge of the table heightened the arousal that had been building in her since she’d sat down, _sans_ underthings, to dinner.

Still kissing her, Jack withdrew his hands, moving to unbutton his shirt and shrug it off his shoulders, then unfastening his trousers and pushing them and his smalls down to the floor, where he kicked them away. Naked, he moved his hands back to her hips and pulled them against him, nestling his hardness between the folds of her drenched sex.

Letting her bodice fall to pool around her waist, Phryne wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her naked breasts to his chest as she continued to kiss him. She lifted her legs to clasp around his waist, hooking her feet together behind him to pull him more strongly against her. Jack’s hands moved from her hips then, one stroking up her back to open wide between her shoulder blades, the other moving up her belly to her chest.

Breaking the kiss, Jack’s hand on her sternum pushed her gently backward so that she lay on the table. With her kiss-swollen lips and her dress ruched up around her waist, Phryne looked completely debauched. Jack’s face was serious, his eyes hot, as he began to press himself rhythmically against her body without yet entering her. His hands went to her breasts and Phryne arched into them.

“Now, Phryne?” Jack asked, his voice hoarse and low, hands kneading her breasts and pulling her nipples, hips pressing and releasing. She could feel the muscles in his taut buttocks as he worked her, his cock bumping her clit with each inward motion.

“Now, Jack!” She agreed, reaching down between them to help guide him into her with one hand, the other grasping his wrist to hold his hand to her breast.

Groaning, Jack pushed into her body, feeling her close around him, hot and tight. Pausing at the point where he was fully embedded, he shifted his stance and slid his hands down to her hips to anchor her. Meeting his eyes, Phryne nodded, and reached up above her head to grasp the opposite edge of the table. This seemed to be all the permission Jack needed to give in to the lust that drove him. His thrusts were heavy and wild; he cupped her bottom in both hands to keep from driving her into the edge of the table. She wailed out her approval of his roughness, breasts bouncing with each thrust, mouth open, her long pale throat arching and her biceps tightening as she braced herself.

Jack’s lips pulled back over his teeth until he was snarling with effort, eyes slitted, hair falling over his forehead, and hips pistoning. Phryne felt his every movement slick and deep, and she began clenching her inner muscles with each inward stroke, until Jack shouted out his release, his hands contracting on her hips and holding her tightly to him. The image of his face, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, and the feel of him coming apart inside her was enough to send Phryne over. Her orgasm rippled through her body, zinging up her spine to tingle in the fingers that still held the edge of the table.

When Jack could move again, he gathered Phryne against him and sat down heavily on the kitchen chair he’d so recently vacated. She draped herself over him limply, pressing small kisses to his shoulder as his hands stroked her back from nape to buttocks. Jack pressed kisses to Phryne’s temple, and they both murmured words of love as their bodies recovered, still joined.

Eventually, Phryne sat up, shimmied her hopelessly wrinkled dress up and over her head, then collapsed back against Jack, dropping the dress on the floor next to his shirt. Jack shook his head lightly and kissed her temple again.

“Up you go, darling,” he said, standing with her still clinging to him like a limpet. Cupping her thighs with his hands, he walked with her down the hall, where he laid her down softly on the bed, then crawled in beside her.

“Jack,” she said sleepily, moving to pillow her head on his chest and twine her legs around his. “That was only one of my fantasies about your house, you know.”

He chuckled. “Of course it was, Phryne. I never doubted it for an instant.” He stroked his hand down her hair, then reached over to turn out the lamp. “But let’s save the rest, shall we?”

And he smiled again when he realized that she hadn’t answered because she’d fallen fast asleep.


	5. Jack's Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne may just have missed an opportunity when she thought about Jack's house. Thankfully, he didn't.

Waking the next morning, Jack breathed in slowly, the scent of Phryne one that he wanted to wake to every day of his life. She was tucked up beside him, one hand lying limply on his chest and her leg draped over his thigh. Jack lay there for several minutes, awake but so comfortable he didn’t want to move, and then he dropped a kiss on her forehead as he carefully extricated himself from the bed. As soon as he left, he was amused to see her stretch out, starfish-like, to take over the entire width of the bed. She mumbled a little and caught his pillow up in one arm to bring it to her chest for cuddling.

Grinning to himself, Jack pulled on his old gardening clothes and made his way out into the early-morning sunshine, certain that his lady would sleep for another hour or two at least, giving him time to tend to his garden. He puddled about happily, digging in the dirt, for an hour and a half before heading back into the kitchen for tea and toast, keeping an ear cocked for Phryne the whole time. When she hadn’t come out as he finished his breakfast, he plated some up for her and took it quietly into the bedroom to lay it on the table by her bedside. Pulling off his grimy trousers and shirt, Jack headed into his bathroom to start the shower.

Phryne surfaced from a lovely dream that included Jack kissing her as she floated in a pot of fragrant tea, in a teacup turned sailboat with a sail made of toast triangles. Her sleepy eyes opened to find herself sprawled in Jack’s bed, a cup of tea steaming softly on the bedside table next to a plate of buttered toast. Raising her head, she listened for Jack, and hearing the shower running next door, smiled softly. Stretching, she reached to snatch a piece of toast before getting up to pad naked into the bathroom.

Jack was standing under the showerhead, humming something that sounded remarkably like “Let’s Misbehave.” She could see the lines of his lean body silhouetted against the shower curtain, and she raised her eyebrows slightly as she popped the last bit of toast into her mouth. Munching, she moved to open the curtain and step in behind Jack, whose arms were lifted up as he soaped his hair, causing the muscles in his back and buttocks to shift nicely. Phryne placed her hands lightly on his sides and stepped into him, pressing up against his backside.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Jack said, amused at her appearance in his shower. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” she replied, her voice still thick with sleep. “I was having very strange dreams, and I found that I wanted you to help me banish them.”

“Poor darling,” Jack said, turning to loop his arms around her. He bent down to kiss her softly, but had to pull back as the soap in his hair was hit by the shower and began pouring down his face. He sputtered out a curse, and Phryne laughed.

Phryne held on as Jack tilted his head and raised his arms again to wash the soap away. She loved the smell of him, fresh and clean, and she could feel herself becoming more awake and interested as she stood there. She pulled herself closer with her hands on his backside; he arched against her as he rinsed and she scattered small kisses on his chest, feeling the water rain down upon her head as well.

Jack, hair and eyes now clear of soap, tilted his shoulders to the side a bit to allow the spray to hit Phryne. He soaped his hands again and began running them over her back and down to her bottom, then back up. She hummed as he rubbed the soap into her shoulders and pulled back a little to allow him to carefully clean her breasts, then reach down to run soapy fingers through the wiry hair at the top of her thighs. Her smile was wicked as she enjoyed his attentions, her own hands kneading his buttocks, feeling him rise and harden against her hip.

He turned them all the way around to rinse her, allowing the shower spray to wash all of the suds away before cupping her head in his big hands to wet her hair. Reaching for the shampoo, he squirted some into one palm and rubbed his hands together to raise a lather before sliding his fingers into her hair. She watched his face through eyes half-closed with pleasure as he massaged the shampoo into her hair, then rinsed it out, being careful not to allow any to drip into her eyes.

Then, when she was clean, he kissed her, his tongue forceful. She’d felt the evidence of his desire for her hard against her belly as she stood pressed to him, and she could tell now just how aroused he was by the rough way he ran his hands over her skin. She was breathing hard as well, and his talented fingers made certain she was as invested as he was in the encounter when he bent his knees to reach between her thighs.

Jack slid his fingers over her clitoris, circling it as he passed on his way to her opening. He wanted to be sure that she was prepared for him—his ministrations to her had managed to strain his control, and he knew he’d not last much longer. When his fingers pressed into her body, Phryne gasped, hands gripping at him wherever she could; one was still on his buttock, and the other had moved up his chest, where her fingers curled against his pectoral muscle like a claw. She’d arched her neck away from him, so he continued his kisses from her jawline down to her collarbone, biting down softly on the curve of her shoulder as his fingers worked their magic on her.

He could feel that she was close to orgasm, and that was exactly what he’d been waiting for. He withdrew his fingers, disregarding her hands clutching at him and her disbelieving cry of his name. Carefully, so as not to slip, he kissed her again. Then, hands planted on her hips, he turned her and urged her hands up to press against the shower wall. Sliding one hand down the slope of her back, he stepped close and guided his rock-hard cock into her from behind. Phryne’s keening “aaaahhh” of satisfaction at being filled made his mouth turn up in a smirk. He slid both hands up her flat stomach to press over her breasts, her nipples poking happily into his palms.

Setting a hard rhythm with his hips, Jack didn’t hold back. There were times, he knew, where tender and gentle were the watchwords—this was not one of those times. He was close enough to orgasm himself that he knew he’d have to recite the periodic table in his head to keep from coming before she did, so he applied himself to sending her flying. With each thrust, Jack listened to the noises she made and adjusted his trajectory until he could tell that he had found her favorite spot. Sliding one of his hands down to her hip, he stretched his middle finger to press her clit as he hit that spot, hard, with every stroke. He leaned into her so that he could reach the back of her neck, and he opened his mouth over it, setting his teeth lightly into her skin.

Phryne could feel how close she was to climax. With her hands flat against the cool tile of the shower wall, she could only focus on what Jack was doing to her body. She felt his hand on her breast, her nipple caught between two of his fingers so that with each squeeze he gave, there was a slight pinch of pressure there. She felt his hand on her hip, his finger swirling in the dampness between her thighs and pulsing against her clitoris. She felt his cock, plunging into her body, hitting her pleasure spot with each thrust, then withdrawing against the grip of her muscles to plunge in again. When she felt Jack’s teeth on her neck, it was the final stimulus necessary to trigger her orgasm, and her right hand flew to grasp the hair atop his head and hold him to her as she shattered.

At Phryne’s shrill cry of release, Jack plunged into her once, twice, three more times before the hard squeezing of her climax triggered his own. Pressing hard into her body and wrapping himself around her, he muffled his own shout against her neck, his hand on her breast spasming as his body siezed.

They stood there, locked together and panting, until they realized that the water running over them was stone cold against their fevered skin. Disengaging their bodies, they quickly rinsed off again, shivering and giggling with it, before stepping out to wrap themselves in two of Jack’s soft bath towels. Once they were dry, they hung up their towels and wandered back into the bedroom, comfortable in their nakedness. With a glance at each other, they crawled back into Jack’s bed and snuggled up, Jack on his back and Phryne draped over his side, one leg thrown over his thigh, one arm lying on his chest, hand clasped in his.

Phryne was the first to speak. “Well, foolish me, I didn’t consider the uses a shower could be put to.”

Jack’s laugh was low and rich. “It’s a good thing that I did, then, isn’t it? I considered it multiple times, I’ll admit.”

“That’s right—you did say that you’d fantasized in the shower,” Phryne raised her head to grin at him. “I’d bet you have more of those ideas, don’t you Jack?”

“I am a very imaginative man, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, his smirk doing things to Phryne that she’d have sworn she was too sated to consider just a moment ago.

“I’ve noticed that,” Phryne said, smiling back at him as she stretched to cover that smirking mouth with her own.


	6. Aunt Prudence’s House

“Jack, it’ll be fine,” Phryne said, straightening his bow tie. “It’s only a family dinner—Guy and Isabella are in town, and I think Aunt P invited a cousin or two, plus a few close friends. It will be twenty or thirty people at the most.”

“That’s hardly a family dinner, Phryne,” Jack said drily, meeting her eyes, his lips tilting up in a smirk.

Smiling up into Jack’s eyes, Phryne stroked his lapels softly, her hands falling to his waist. “I’ve asked Aunt P to seat us together this time,” she assured him, “and I promise, I’ll sneak in and make sure of it before we’re called in to dine. All right?”

“I imagine I’ll cope,” he said, his mouth tilting up in a smile. Mrs Stanley had, in the past, seated Jack with some incredible bores—likely to try and scare him away from Phryne. He hoped that by now, she realized that it wasn’t going to happen. He’d endure anything to have the privilege of going home with Phryne Fisher at the end of the evening.

Phryne’s smile turned wicked. Jack tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing. “What are you planning, Miss Fisher?”

“Nothing too scandalous, Jack,” she assured him, her voice innocent. “Just another one of my fantasies.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “And what fantasy would that be?”

“Oh no, Jack Robinson,” Phryne’s voice was forbidding, but it had an undercurrent of laughter running through it. “That would be telling. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jack gave her a _look_. “Then we’d better be on our way,” was all he said.

*****

“Inspector,” Prudence Stanley’s voice was at its most dubious. “And Phryne, darling!” She kissed Phryne on both cheeks, gave Jack a narrow-eyed nod, and ushered them into the parlor where her guests were milling about.

Snagging a pair of wine glasses off of a passing servant’s tray, Phryne handed one to Jack as they surveyed the crowd.

“You know, Jack,” she said, as her aunt bustled off to reprimand a servant whose tray was empty, “this dress is very comfortable.”

Jack glanced at her, his eyes running down her form. Her dress was a dark purple crushed velvet that set off the alabaster tone of her skin. Its deep v-neck skimmed the curves of her breasts without revealing too much (except perhaps that she wore no brassiere underneath), and the fabric clung to her waist and hips before transitioning to a gauzy fabric that dripped in an asymmetrical hemline to just below her knees.

“It’s lovely too,” he said, a little confused by her statement. He touched his hand to her back, just above her waist, where the dress dipped low. His thumb brushed lightly against the skin of her back where it was exposed by the fabric.

“Mmm,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s a little unforgiving, though.” She sent him an arch look.

He tilted his head at her. “What do you mean?” He suddenly knew, though, and she could hear it in the lowering of his voice.

“Its lines require a certain… freedom of restraint,” she said, her eyes laughing up at his.

“Phryne…” he closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned in to speak directly in her ear, his deep voice thrumming across her skin. “You’re not wearing any undergarments, are you?”

“Excellent sleuthing, Jack,” she said, twirling away from him with a cheeky grin to greet her cousin and his wife.

*****

At the dinner table, Jack was indeed seated next to Phryne. On Jack’s other side was one Mrs Abigail Grentham, who seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with her cats, Little Jack (“What a coincidence!” the elderly woman trilled when she learned his first name) and Mr Pickles. Jack would likely have had trouble attending to Mrs Grantham’s conversation anyway, but knowing that Phryne was sitting beside him with nothing between that dress and her skin was nearly killing him. He was engrossed by the possibilities of no-knickers Phryne, and he knew that she was aware of it. This was her fantasy, to torment him with his own imagination. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d want it to play out—would she want to drag him off to another room to “rest” after dinner? Or perhaps she’d tease him until they got home at the end of the party? She might have something else in mind altogether. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

At least, he thought he didn’t care until he felt her hand take his under the table and place it on her naked thigh. He glanced over at her, and raised his eyebrows at the completely innocent expression she wore as she chatted to the man on her right. That expression rarely boded well for her motivations. He glanced down. The tablecloth covered all of her lap, but by the feel of things, he could tell that she’d rucked up her dress underneath. Now, her hand was guiding his up her leg. Jack glanced around. No one around the table seemed to be aware of the location of his hand. He guessed that if this was what she wanted, he would do his best to give it to her. He just hoped that Mrs Stanley never realized it was happening, or he’d not be welcome here again.

Jack slid his hand out from under Phryne’s—she let him go easily; she wouldn’t force him, he knew. He also knew that she thought he was withdrawing. He wasn’t. He knew he’d have to work hard on keeping his poker face, and he wondered whether Phryne had truly thought this one through. He turned back to the conversation about Mrs Grentham’s cats, but slid his hand farther up the inside of her thigh until he was cupping her mound. Thankfully, Mrs Grentham was happy to tell Jack all about her darlings, and all he had to do was nod and smile, and make appropriate “hm” and “ah!” noises at regular intervals.

He hoped that Mrs Grentham didn’t soon require anything more coherent from him, though, because when his fingers made contact with Phryne’s sex, he realized that she was dripping wet. Apparently, the teasing she’d been doing had been teasing her as well, and she was excited by his participation in her game. Jack slid his fingers through her crinkly hair and down between her slippery lips. He knew that he’d have to keep his motions small to avoid being seen, so he positioned his hand carefully. Placing the heel of his hand against her clitoris, he slid two fingers inside her; she drew in a soft, shaky breath.

He began pumping his fingers in and out of her channel, pressing down on her clit with each thrust. One of Phryne’s hands moved past his wrist, and he glanced down to see her gripping the edge of her chair; her other hand was up on the table, palm supporting her head, and she appeared to be listening raptly to whatever her seatmate was saying. He flexed his fingers within her and saw her cover her lips with her fingers as her breath shuddered slightly in her chest. Knowing that it wouldn’t be long until Mrs Stanley would rise to lead the party out of the dining room, Jack sped up his finger-fucking, curling his fingertips with each stroke to press hard into that spot within her body that made her come while at the same time pushing down on her clit with his hand. It only took a few more strokes before her hand gripping the chair was on his wrist, holding his hand tight between her thighs while the ripples of her climax massaged the length of his fingers. How she managed not to cry out, he didn’t know.

Jack swallowed, very glad that the tablecloth covered his lap as well. When her hand slackened on his wrist, he withdrew, pulling his hand back into his own lap, where he wiped his fingers on his napkin. When he felt Phryne’s hand on his thigh, sliding upward, likely intending to return the favor, he caught it in his. Turning to her, he smirked and shook his head at her guileless face.

Phryne looked at him, and noted the tension around his eyes. Poor Jack! She hadn’t meant for it to go this far. She’d been amazed that he’d actually brought her to climax here at Aunt P’s table! Her Jack was getting much more daring. He deserved a reward.

When her aunt stood to lead the company into the drawing room, Phryne held back and caught Jack’s hand. He gave her a quizzical look but waited with her until the rest of the guests had left the dining room. Peeking after them, Phryne turned left where the rest had turned right, pulling Jack down a hallway.

Phryne turned quickly to push open the door to a small powder room and, glancing around to make certain they were unobserved, pulled Jack inside. She closed the door behind him and pushed him against the door.

“I would love to kiss you right now, but my lipstick is in my purse by the front door, so if I do, everyone will know what we’ve been up to,” Phryne’s grin was infectious. “So I guess,” she said, her hand stroking down the front of his tux to his trouser placket, where his cock had started to harden again, “you’ll have to make do with my hands.” Her eyes were wicked as they twinkled up at him.

Pressing his hands flat against the door behind him, Jack pressed his hips slightly into the palm of her stroking hand. “Better hurry then,” he said with a growl, “before we’re missed.”

In answer, Phryne undid his trousers and pulled him out into the light of the bathroom. His cock was hard and getting harder as she stroked him, one hand reaching into his pants to cup his balls, the other pulling gently from his root to his tip in long, smooth, twisting motions. It wasn’t long before Jack was panting, his head alternating between tilting back against the door and leaning forward to see Phryne’s busy hands at work. As his breathing grew more erratic, her hands moved more quickly, until Jack’s hips began to thrust against her fingers and he groaned low in his chest. Pulling her lower hand out of his pants, Phryne reached for a small towel hanging beside the sink and continued her ministrations.

“Come for me, darling,” Phryne said, pressing her body against the side of his as she pumped her hand on his cock. When he stiffened, his lips pulling back over his teeth, she cupped the towel over him but kept her hand moving. His orgasmic moan was as soft as he could make it, and he dropped his head down to press his forehead against her hair. Panting, he pressed a kiss to her forehead as she wiped him clean and tucked him back inside his trousers.

He looped his arms around her, holding her tightly for a moment before letting go. Phryne tossed the towel into a hamper in the corner of the room and moved to the sink to wash her hands. When she was done, she met his eyes in the mirror and grinned cheekily. He moved away from the door to rest his hands on her hips and press a kiss to her neck.

“Mmm,” she said, arching to give him better access. “Give me a head start?”

Jack nodded. “As always,” he murmured, and watched her sashay out of the room. _She will eventually,_ he thought, _be the death of me._ He grinned. What a way to go.


	7. In the Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An addendum to Chapter 6; Jack and Phryne have taken the edge off at Aunt P's dinner party, but they're not done yet.

Jack leaned on the mantel in Prudence Stanley’s parlor, watching Phryne captivate her aunt's guests. She shimmered in her purple crushed velvet gown, and her laugh rang out across the room. Occasionally, she’d send him a glance and a secretive smile before returning to her conversation. As Jack watched her, he considered. She’d had her fun this evening, but he knew that they were far from finished. Just the fact that he knew that she wasn’t wearing any underthings kept him in a near-constant state of partial arousal. He found himself wanting to challenge her again before the evening was over.

So when Phryne made her way over to check in with him, as was her habit during parties like this (she knew that he was more comfortable on the sidelines, but she loved to be in the thick of things), he drew her close and brought his mouth to her ear.

“Did you bring your family planning device tonight?” He murmured, the sound of his voice rumbling in her ear sending a tremor through her body.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she answered as she sipped her drink, a frothy concoction that she was almost certain was more alcohol than anything else.

“Good,” he said, and dropped a kiss behind her ear before looking out at the party, his arm still around her waist.

“Did you need it?” She said, glancing up at him with a gleam in her eyes.

“No, but you will,” he said, sotto voce. He glanced down at her, and the look in his eyes was intense. “Be sure to put it in before we leave.”

Phryne’s eyes widened at the order, and her mouth opened on a small “oh!” of surprise. Jack very rarely got demanding, at least verbally. She shivered and nodded.

His lips quirked in his sideways smile and he squeezed her waist. He dropped his head to hers again, his voice a velvet stroke against her ear, “It’s a good thing that we brought my car this evening. The roof on your car wouldn’t be raised, and I’d hate for your aunt’s guests to be scandalized by what I plan to do to you in the back seat.”

Phryne felt her nipples harden in a rush. She drew in a deep breath and tried to hide the flush of arousal on her face by raising her drink to her lips again. She licked her lips, images of the various ways she might be ravished by Jack in the back of the car flashing through her mind. Jack’s hand dipped from her waist down to stroke over her buttock and down to press lightly between her thighs. She gasped.

“Go on,” he rumbled softly, “Your admirers await you.” When she met his gaze, his eyes were wicked. He could tell what he was doing to her! She reached up to place a soft kiss on his cheek; rubbing with her thumb to erase the lipstick mark she’d left, she smiled softly at him before sashaying back into the crowd.

Over the next two hours, Phryne found that she was even more aware of Jack’s presence in the room than she usually was. Every so often, he’d find her in the crowd and lower his mouth to her ear to comment on what he had planned.

Once, it was, “I can’t wait to put my mouth on your breasts,” another time, it was “Are you wet for me, Phryne?” A third time, it was “It will feel so good to have you riding me while the rest of the world goes by.” The fourth time, he said “Shall I fuck you from behind, or would you rather face me?” Jack so rarely used filthy language that she could tell that he was reaching the end of his endurance, but he also knew that those words, spoken in his deep voice, would act on her as an aphrodisiac.

When he came to her the fifth time and murmured, “I think you should face me so that I can kiss you while you fuck me,” she almost came then and there. Instead, she swallowed and excused herself. Jack’s knowing glance and murmur of, “don’t take the edge off, Phryne,” had her sending him a sideways look and a small nod. She knew that her color was probably high, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could last before she ravished him.

She stopped in Aunt P’s front hallway to pick up her handbag, which she took back into the tiny bathroom where she’d so recently… paid Jack her respects. Smiling slightly, she took a moment to insert her diaphragm, only caressing her sensitive flesh a little as she did so. Standing at the mirror, she washed her hands, then reapplied her lipstick before heading back out to the party.

Finding Jack wasn’t hard—he’d gravitated back to the edge of the party, this time standing near the doorway. Stepping up beside him, Phryne stroked her hand down his back to rest on his buttock. He smiled down at her.

“Almost ready to go, Miss Fisher?” His eyelids were heavy with arousal, and his voice was a growl. Glancing down, Phryne could see that he was holding himself carefully, and that his dinner jacket was tightly buttoned in hopes that it would hide the bulge in his trousers.

“Let me just say my farewells,” she said softly, giving his ass a squeeze before moving her hand to grasp his. “You should come too.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he said, chuckling softly. She flashed a grin at him before pulling him across the room to say goodbye to her aunt.

Aunt Prudence wasn’t pleased that Phryne was leaving so early, but on being told that they had a case they were working on (not entirely a fiction—they did, just not one that called them home tonight), reluctantly allowed them leave to go. With a quick promise that she’d call for tea in a day or two, Phryne was able to extricate herself. Tucking her hand into Jack’s elbow, she led him out of the parlor and into the night.

As soon as they passed out of the light from the doorway, Jack took over. He tugged her into a patch of darkness and pulled her against him, covering her mouth with his. His hands ran over her body, stroking her through the velvet of her dress, his tongue pressed between her lips as he cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him. She could feel his erection against her belly, and the low sound that she made was muffled by his mouth.

Jack pulled his mouth away from Phryne’s. “Car,” he said, his voice lower even than usual. He turned, his arm still around her waist, and quickstepped toward his car, which was parked a short ways away. Thankfully, it was slightly separated from the rest of the guests’ vehicles, up against a hedge that partially obscured it from view. Opening the rear door, he helped Phryne inside, then followed to sit beside her, his mouth finding hers yet again.

Phryne, who had watched him enter the car with hot eyes, slid her arms around his neck, kissing him back ravenously. She swung her leg over his lap, and thrilled to the feel of his hands on her thighs pushing her skirt up so that he could cup her between her legs. Sitting up on his thighs, Phryne slid the straps of her gown down, the deep vee where it dipped front and back helping her slide it off of her shoulders to gather at her waist. Her breasts were bare, her nipples hard, and she cupped them, watching Jack’s face.

One hand between her thighs, Jack brought his other hand to her back to press her forward so that he could press openmouthed kisses to her proffered breasts. He licked the skin around her nipple, then drew the pink bud into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue before catching it between his teeth as he pressed two fingers into her from below. Phryne’s breath caught as she came, her head falling backward on her neck and her groan echoing around the car’s interior.

When Phryne could breathe normally again, she reached between them to loosen Jack’s trousers, pulling him out to stroke him from base to tip. Jack grunted against her breast, his busy mouth moving to her other nipple to give it the same sweet treatment as the first.

“Jack,” she said, her voice thready, “I want you inside me!”

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. Sliding the hand on her back down to cup one buttock and the hand between her thighs around to cup the other, he lifted her up and she guided him into her body. Phryne leaned down to kiss him, her eyes open and on his as she began to move.

His hands on her ass guided her frantic movements; she flexed her thighs to rise and fall over him, pulling up until he almost withdrew completely, then falling back down his length to grind and circle her hips before rising again. Their kisses echoed the movements of their bodies, Jack’s tongue thrusting into Phryne’s warm mouth. When she felt the need to change the angle of the thrusts, Phryne leaned back, her arms stretched out along the top of the front seats. Holding herself in place, she stayed still as Jack thrust into her from below, the angle knocking the head of his cock against the front of her passage. He slid one hand up to cover her breast and the other around the front of her body to slide over her clit, alternately pressing and pulling it and sending waves of pleasure through her.

“Jack!” Her cry was breathy and high, “I’m… I’m… Jaaack!” Phryne stiffened as her climax rushed over her, her back arching toward Jack and her hands clenching to hold herself in place.

“Oh, god, Phryne!” Jack rumbled, hands moving to her hips to push her down to meet his hard thrusts. He covered her breast with his mouth again to muffle his cry as he came, his body continuing to thrust even as his orgasm shook his body.

Phryne brought one arm, then the other away from the stability of the car seat to wrap them around Jack’s neck, pulling herself closer to him. He sat up against the back of the seat, arms circling around her to stroke her bare back, mouth coming to meet hers yet again in what was, this time, a sweet and loving greeting.

Laying her head on Jack’s shoulder, Phryne sighed contentedly, happy to just cuddle with him now that the fire between them had been banked.

“You always surprise me, Jack Robinson,” she said softly. “I had no idea that you had even considered the car in your many and varied imaginings.” She could feel Jack’s lips curving where they rested against her neck.

“It would be a tactical error to think you had me pegged just yet, Miss Fisher,” he said against her skin before raising his head to smile at her. Phryne laughed at this reminder of one of their earliest cases.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said, and kissed his smiling mouth again.


	8. Little Melodies, Part Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the scene in chapter 8 of [Billets-Doux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908).

Jack stood next to the piano in the parlor, his Miss Fisher seated atop it, her hands sliding into his hair, the smirk on her red-slicked lips enough to make him want to ravish her all by itself. Looking up at her, he marveled at this beautiful woman. She’d left him a letter tucked under the key cover of the piano, an ode to his hands. He didn’t pretend to understand the appeal, but if that’s what she liked, he’d do his best to please.

Resting his hands on her ankles, he rubbed small circles around her anklebones, stroking her through her fine silk stockings. Phryne smiled and combed his hair with her fingers, pressing her fingers into his scalp.

“Mmm, and what is it about my hands, Miss Fisher,” he asked, his murmuring voice a low rumble, “that you enjoy?” He carefully pulled her shoes off and let them drop to the floor, then cupped the arches of her feet in his palms. He trailed his fingers lightly along the tops of her feet, trying not to tickle, but she shivered. With the lightest of touches, he traced the line up the back of each of her stockings, swirling around and occasionally scraping with his fingernails. When he reached her calves, he palmed them, curling his fingers around to pull her knees apart so that he could step between them. Phryne stroked her hands down to the back of Jack’s neck, her fingernails stroking the short hair there as she pulled his lips to hers.

“They are large, and warm, and so very… nimble, Jack,” was her hushed response against his mouth. She kissed him as she always wanted to kiss him, full out. Her Jack had many redeeming physical qualities, and though his hands were what she’d pointed out today, his mouth was another part that she found she couldn’t get enough of. His lips were firm and mobile against hers, his tongue dipping gently into her mouth to taste her flavors was velvety soft, and his teeth, straight and strong, could nibble gently or nip sharply, and either sensation could send her into orgasm almost immediately.

Jack’s hands continued their slide up her legs as he tucked himself between her spread thighs. He swirled his fingers around her kneecaps and pressed lightly in the hollows behind her knees, continuing to kiss her as he worked his way up to the tops of her stockings. Reaching her garters, he undid them with a flick of his fingers, then pushed her stockings down her legs and started the slow trek of his fingers at her feet again.

Phryne’s breath was growing shorter, her hands kneading at the back of his neck and her skin on fire. Jack’s kiss was passionate, and she remembered wondering, when they first met, if he was as cold as the face he presented to the world suggested. Now she knew that his coldness had been… not a mask, but a wall that he had built to keep himself safe from the horrors of the war. Now she knew that his passions ran deep and hot, and she felt herself lucky to be the woman who called them from him.

Tearing her attention from Jack’s mouth, she became aware again of his hands, which had reached the tops of her thighs and were busily undoing the buttons across the seam of her knickers. She wondered what his plan was here—the piano was too tall for him to be able to reach her with his hips, and she was sure that she would be craving him inside her in short order. If the theme here was hands, maybe he’d just… ooohhhh… Phryne’s head fell back on her neck as all of her muscles went lax.

Jack glanced up at Phryne as he slid his fingers into the warm, damp space between her thighs. Seeing the expression on her face as he stroked his fingers along her labia, he smirked. With his other hand, he pressed against her sternum, urging her to lie back across the lid of the piano. She complied, her body almost boneless as he continued to swirl his fingers against her most intimate flesh.

When she was prone, he placed a hand on her stomach, sliding underneath her gauzy blouse. One hand now stroking her clitoris with his calloused fingertips, he pushed his other hand up her belly, relishing the feel of her satiny skin. His hand under her blouse continued upward until he encountered her soft brassiere, warm from her skin. Slipping under the bottom edge, he pushed it up and over her breasts, covering one and then the other with his warm palm to make sure that he had unfettered access to her nipples. Phryne moaned when he plumped one breast with his hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Her breasts were very sensitive, he knew, and he was rewarded for his manipulation with a gush of moisture between her legs.

He took advantage of that wetness to push his middle finger inside her, sliding it in to the last knuckle and enjoying the arch of her back against his hand on her breast. Jack’s eyes turned to his hand between her thighs, watching himself slide that finger out and then push in again, his thumb rolling over her clit when the base of his fingers hit her body.

Phryne’s cry of pleasure was a long, drawn-out version of his name, and Jack’s smile widened. He felt ten feet tall when he heard her call his name that way. On the next stroke of his finger out of her body, he added a second digit, palm up so that when he hit the base of his fingers, he could manipulate her clit with the heavier pressure of his palm. With his other hand, he swept across her chest to her other breast, squeezing it with his palm, her pointed nipple caught between his first two fingers. Phryne cried out again, wordlessly this time, and brought her hand up to cover his from the outside of her blouse.

When he added a third finger and complemented it by pressing along the front of her passage with each stroke into and out of her body, Phryne’s body began to twist, one leg rising to hook her heel behind his back and pull him closer. With a smile, Jack moved his hand on her breast to rest on her sternum, his fingers spread wide.

“Help me, Phryne,” his voice was rough, and Phryne responded, pressing both hands to her breasts now, pushing them inward so that his big hand could reach both of her nipples at once, his thumb to one and his pinkie to the other. His hand between her legs was pumping hard now, pressing against her clit with each thrust, his fingers dragging across the sensitive spot inside her body. As her tension built, Phryne’s breath began to whine in her chest, and she bit at her lips to keep from screaming aloud.

Jack’s pumping hand became almost a spank against her clit with each press inward, and the coil inside Phryne finally released. Her back arched, her mouth falling open and Jack’s name ringing out around the room with her pleasure. Slowing the pace of his fingers between her legs and drawing his hand on her breasts back down her belly, Jack stroked her through the aftershocks of her climax.

When she could breathe again, Phryne propped herself up on wobbly arms, watching Jack slide his hand from between her legs. He reached for her hands, helping her sit up again, then slid her off of the piano and into his arms, her legs clutching him around his waist. Phryne could feel his arousal against her sensitive flesh, and she clenched her thighs to bring herself closer.

“I think we should adjourn to the bedroom, Phryne,” Jack’s voice in her ear was delicious, sending ripples through her body.

“What about you, Jack?” She asked.

“Well, you’ve told me all about how you like my hands,” he said, carrying her to the parlor doors and up the stairs, the hands in question cupped securely underneath her bottom. “We should talk about how much I like your mouth.”

Phryne’s laughter, like her cries of passion, rang out, echoing against the ceiling, as he pushed into their bedroom and closed the door behind them.


	9. On the Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne brings Jack dinner when he's working late, and is surprised at what's really on the menu.

Phryne sauntered into City South, dinner basket in hand. Jack had been at work for more than twelve hours, and if the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad, well… She had packed some sandwiches made with Mr Butler’s excellent meatloaf along with a lovely bowl of cold roasted vegetables, and she’d added a slice of berry cake that would satisfy his sweet tooth.

She didn’t recognize the constable on duty, though he obviously recognized her, for after one abortive “Miss…” he subsided quietly behind the desk. She flashed him a smile as she sauntered toward Jack’s office.

There he was, her Jack, sitting at his desk, absorbed in paperwork. She pushed through the door, opening it quietly and swinging it closed behind her with a wink at the openmouthed constable. It wasn’t till the lock clicked that Jack looked up.

“Yes, what is it—” his face brightened when he saw her, and even more when he saw the basket she carried. He stood and crossed out from behind the desk, greeting her with a soft kiss as he took the basket from her hand.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, smiling, as she rested her hands on his hips beneath his jacket.

“Hello, Phryne love,” was his rumbled response, his smile soft against her mouth. He kissed her again, then took the basket and walked around to set it on his desk.

“I brought you dinner,” she said, coming behind him to perch on the end of the desk, crossing her legs. Her skirt rode up a little, exposing her knees. Jack looked down at her, his smile widening.

“So you did,” he said, and he tilted his head at her a little.

“What?” Phryne tilted her head back at him, enjoying his calm acceptance of her presence in his office.

“I was just thinking,” he said, moving around her to close the door to the hallway. She heard the soft _snick_ of the lock and raised an eyebrow. How she loved it when Jack got playful!

“Were you?” She said on a purr. She watched him as he came back around her to seat himself in his chair.

“I was,” he replied, and he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together over his belly. He studied her where she sat, leaning back on her hands, her lovely knees bared by the lift of her skirt. “I was thinking about the case last year with your friend Stanley Burrows, and how you sat _right there_ on my desk in your white tennis dress. Do you remember?”

“I do remember, Jack,” Phryne licked her lips, “and I remember how you asked me to ‘remove myself’ from your desk. You even threatened me with that spider to get me to move.” She shuddered delicately at the memory.

“I asked you to move,” Jack said, his voice a growl, “because all I could think about was running my hands up your beautiful legs and burying my face between your thighs. And we weren’t… quite… there yet.” He leaned forward, his eyes hot on hers. “We are now.”

“Why, Jack,” Phryne murmured, leaning toward him, “what did you have in mind?” She was breathless with thoughts of what he might do—she’d known that night the year before that he desired her. And she’d deliberately posed on the corner of his desk to entice him, hoping that he would finally make a move. To hear that he’d been thinking such things made her breath quicken.

Jack met her eyes and, not looking away, pushed the picnic basket off to the side of his desk, then reached to grasp her hips and pull her to the center, in front of his chair. Keeping his eyes on hers, he slid warm palms up the backs of her calves, uncrossing her legs. He pulled her legs apart, smoothing his hands down to cup her heels and tucking her toes on either side of his hips as he rolled his office chair up to the desk, positioning himself between her wide-spread thighs. Licking his lips, he placed his hands on her knees.

“Do you know, Miss Fisher, just how hungry I am this evening?” He could see Phryne’s chest beginning to rise and fall as her breathing sped up, and her eyes had dilated with arousal. He slowly slid his hands up her thighs, pushing the lightweight material of her skirt up to bunch around her waist. Without breaking her gaze, he reached between her legs to stroke the line of her sex through her already dampened knickers.

“No, Jack,” Phryne’s voice was breathless. Arousal had darkened his eyes, and as she watched his tongue slicking across his full mouth, she found her tongue mimicking the motion. “How hungry are you?” His hands slid around to grasp her hips and pull them forward so that she was balanced on the edge of the desk.

“Very, very hungry,” was his response, and then he dipped his head and placed his open mouth on the silk between her legs, breathing hotly through her knickers. She raised one hand to grasp the back of his head, leaning her weight against the other, flat on his desk behind her. Jack nosed into one leg hole of her knickers, pushing it aside so that he could run his tongue up the crease between her pubis and thigh. Reaching up with one hand, he undid the three flat buttons that rested across the seam of her knickers, smoothing the top flap of cloth up toward her belly and pressing against her pubic bone with the heel of his hand as his mouth found its way back to her sex.

Phryne arched her back, trying not to cry out, mindful of the constable who stood just beyond the door, as Jack licked her slit from bottom to top, then went back to burrow into her folds with his tongue. He hardened his tongue and pressed it into her, curling it to slide against the walls of her passage. Pulling out, he licked up to her clitoris, sweeping side to side inside her labia to stimulate the nerve endings that reached up to her most sensitive spot.

Phryne raised one thigh to rest her knee on his shoulder, letting her head fall back. Jack’s mouth was really very talented, she thought, biting her lips against the moan that was building in her chest. He had returned to tongue-fucking now, thrusting in and out while the thumb of the hand still pressing her pubis slid in circles around her clit. As he continued, Phryne’s hips began to mimic his rhythm, helplessly thrusting against his face as she neared climax. Lifting her head, she looked down at him, only to find him watching her as he pushed his tongue into her, over and over. The heat in his eyes combined with the pressure of his thumb against her clit and the feeling of his tongue’s wet heat coalesced into a single point and Phryne flashed over into orgasm, her body wrapping itself around Jack’s head, both hands now gripping his hair. Her cry of release was muffled by her tightly closed lips, and her heel dug into his back.

When her climax was over, she straightened, breathing hard and planting one hand behind herself on the desk for support. She slid her knee off of Jack’s shoulder as he rebuttoned her knickers, stroking her softly through them in farewell. He sat up in his chair, licking his lips as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his face.

“Goodness, inspector,” Phryne said, swallowing and feeling the laxness of her muscles that came with orgasm. “I hope that I have helped you sate that appetite of yours.” Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her motions languid. It was all Jack could do to keep from standing up, ripping open her knickers and his own trousers, and fucking her silly. He cursed the paperwork that he still had to complete that evening, and the fact that there was a constable just outside the door. He wanted to make her scream, and this was not the place.

“That will do for now,” he said, “but I think it was only an appetizer.” He smiled at her slowly, his intentions clear. “I should be home in another hour or so for the main course.” Phryne smiled. When her legs were steady, she slipped off the desk to stand in front of Jack. Planting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned in to kiss him soundly, sweeping her tongue through his mouth. Lifting her head, she plucked the handkerchief from his hand to wipe off the lipstick she’d left behind, then tucked it into his jacket pocket. She reached up to smooth his hair where she’d mussed it with her fingers, and he smiled at the caress. Grinning, she slid out from behind the desk and sashayed toward the door, deliberately swinging her hips teasingly with each step.

“Have a lovely dinner, darling,” she said as she opened the door, and with a little wave, she left for home, her mind whirring with plans about that main course.


	10. Phryne’s Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to my Miss Fisher friends! I hope that 2016 treats you gently. ♥

Jack woke slowly, his mind alerting him to the sunlight streaming through the windows beside the bed. He was lying on his side, his back to the light, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated to the sight of the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, flat on her stomach and spread-eagled across the bed. She lay with her face toward him, but her limbs splayed; he realized that he was balanced right on the edge of the bed. Smiling indulgently, he looked her over.

The room was rather warm—the summer heat rarely abated even at night—and she’d shed the covers almost entirely. Her naked back was bared, just the tops of her buttocks visible. They had enjoyed each other thoroughly the night before, and Jack loved it when they woke naked in the mornings. He found it funny to realize that he couldn’t manage to get to sleep when he was naked unless some sort of lovemaking preceded it, but to wake next to a naked Phryne was one of his favorite things.

He propped himself up on an elbow to get a better view of her. His eyes traced the lines of her back, noting the light dusting of freckles on her shoulders and the pale alabaster skin that stretched to the dimples above her buttocks and beyond. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and he raised a hand to lightly smooth it down, causing Phryne to shift a little and make a noise that indicated how unwilling she was to wake just yet. Jack’s smile grew as he traced his fingers lightly down her spine, marveling at the softness of her skin. When she let out a soft, pleasured noise, he opened his palm and stroked her again, still lightly, from shoulder to waist.

“I remember the first time I saw this beautiful back,” he rumbled close to her ear, his voice still rough with sleep. “You were running circles around me and my constable in a lavatory-turned-murder-scene, and your blouse bared your shoulders down below your shoulderblades. I was spellbound even then by the desire to touch that skin, to stroke it with my fingers.” He suited actions to his words, swirling his fingertips over her shoulders and upper back, then up and down her arms to the elbow. Phryne smiled slightly, but didn’t open her eyes as she arched a little against his touch.

“And then I saw you almost naked, covered only by a towel, with these shoulders glistening with sweat from the heat of the sauna. I wanted nothing more at that point than to pull the towel off of you so that I could see and feel all of your beautiful skin.” He began to stroke her, his warm palm sliding down one of her sides, his fingers teasing the side of her breast, before stroking back up the opposite side to rest on the back of her neck.

“Over and over I could see glimpses of your skin until that night at the gentlemen’s club when your fan dance added an almost complete picture of your body to my fantasies. Did you think that it was an accident that my mouth was open against your breast when we were discovered in that alcove? It was all I could do to keep from ravishing you right there on the sofa, only a curtain separating us from the rest of the gentlemen and escorts in the lounge.” He traced his fingertips lightly over her back, making circles and loops before using a finger to write _I love Phryne Fisher_ along her spine, slowly and gently, forming every letter much more carefully than he would ordinarily write.

Shifting closer, he brought his mouth to her skin, starting at her neck and inhaling her scent. She smelled lightly of sweat and the remnants of her French perfume, and he opened his mouth at the back of her neck, kissing her there and trailing his lips down her spine. When he reached her buttocks, he moved side to side to touch his tongue to the dimples on either side, inhaling her scent here as well. Here, the essence of Phryne, as he thought of it, was joined by another scent, one with spicy and musky undertones—his own scent.

“God, Phryne,” his voice was a growl even deeper than usual, “you smell like me.” The idea that she carried his scent in her skin made him harden in a rush, prompting him to push the covers down past her bottom and run his hands over her buttocks. He followed his hands with his mouth, kissing and licking at her skin. He could hear her breath growing uneven, and he shifted to lie between her thighs, keeping his mouth at the base of her spine while running both hands up her back, stroking her more strongly now. She keened softly with pleasure, her back arching and her hips raising to meet his mouth.

Pushing himself downward, Jack nuzzed his nose between her legs, reaching to kiss her most intimate flesh. He licked and bit lightly at the curves of her buttocks, his thumbs lying alongside her spine as he smoothed his palms up her back and then back down to grasp her buttocks and gently pull them outward so that his mouth could reach her quim. Phryne gasped, her hips pressing into the bed, as he licked her there; looking up her body, he could see that her hands were fisting in the bedclothes. He dropped his thumbs from her buttocks to join his tongue, pressing both of them into her body and stretching her slightly so that his tongue could reach between them.

“You taste like heaven, salty and sweet,” he spoke into her body, “and I think I could stay right here for ages.” She wailed, her cry muffled by the pillows. He felt the muscles of her thighs shaking slightly against his shoulders, and he knew that she was nearing completion. He shifted one hand, its thumb still pressing inside her, to cup between her thighs, his fingers finding her clitoris and massaging it. The other hand moved slightly toward the center of her bottom, its thumb sliding within her body while its fingers spread as wide as possible over her buttocks.

“Come, Phryne,” he said into her body, feeling her hips pressing against his fingers. He moved his mouth to allow his thumbs the room they needed to press harder inside her, knuckles together. With both thumbs inside her as far as they would go, Jack began sweeping them in circular motions, stroking her inner walls and the opening to her body while his fingers continued to press and rub her clit.

“ _Come, Phryne,_ ” he said again, more forcefully this time, and she obeyed, her body shaking with release, her back arching and her pelvis pressing hard against the bed. Jack massaged her through her climax, dropping kisses on whatever skin he could find.

When her shudders subsided, he withdrew, pushing up to align himself over her, his cock pressing at her opening. Phryne raised her hips slightly to welcome him, and he pushed to seat himself inside her body, her buttocks soft against the flesh of his belly. Sliding his hands up her sides, he stroked his fingers underneath her to palm her breasts, squeezing them lightly as he pressed his pelvis into her without withdrawing. Dropping his head, he opened his mouth to lightly grip the junction of shoulder and neck with his teeth as he began to pulse his hips against her. Phryne reached her arms up to press against the headboard, bracing herself; Jack took that as permission to pump harder. He undulated against her, sliding wetly in and out, their mingled scents rising up around him. He lifted his head, resting his cheek against hers.

“You smell like me, Phryne,” he said again, his voice vibrating into her, both at her ear, where it seemed to shiver down her body to ping against her clit, and through his chest pressed against her back.

She moaned his name, pressing her buttocks more tightly against him. His rhythm grew faster and choppier as he neared his release. Feeling himself about to lose control, he moved one hand down her belly, between her body and the sheet, to slide between her legs, adding pressure at her clit to the hard thrusts of his hips.

“Again, Phryne, come again,” he growled into her neck. “Come now!”

“Jaaaa-aaack,” she cried, followed by a wordless scream as once again she obeyed, his grip on her clit and the press of his cock within her body pushing her over the edge into orgasm. Jack, feeling her body clench around him, groaned out his own release, slamming his hips into her one final time as he came, his climax streaking up and down his spine as he pulsed within her.

When he could breathe again, Jack slid out of Phryne and to one side. She rolled to face him, her arms coming down to pull him close.

“You know, it shouldn’t be erotic to hear a man say that he can smell himself on me,” she murmured into his ear, “but I must admit, it was. Especially in your voice, Jack.”

Jack grinned. “I’ll admit, it was surprisingly motivating to me, as well. And it’s only fair—your perfume can be detected on every bit of clothing I own.”

“I’m branding you,” Phryne’s voice was light, but he thought he heard a note of truth in it. “So that all of the lovely young women you come into contact with will know that you’re spoken for.”

“There’s no need for that, my love,” he said softly, dropping kisses along her neck. “Though I can’t say that I mind. It keeps you with me all day long.” He gathered her closer, inhaling her scent and smelling his own satisfyingly mingled with it.

“Your back should be registered as a lethal weapon,” Jack muttered against her neck, stroking that back with his wide palms.

“I’ve never thought so before now,” Phryne said, and he could feel her smile against his temple. “But if it brings _that_ out in you, darling Jack, perhaps it should. Not that I’m complaining. Far from it.”

“I just had this… moment, where all I could think of was you and those feathers, and the moment I realized that you wore nothing on your top half beneath your fans.”

“Not true at all, Jack,” laughter laced her voice now. “I wore nipple covers.”

He snorted. “Doesn’t matter. I barely kept myself upright that night, looking at your long back and your lovely arse clad in nothing but feathers.” He ran a hand down to cup one buttock, kneading it softly. “I just haven’t had the chance to act on that image till now.”

“All you had to do was ask, Jack,” she murmured, and he felt her drop a kiss on his hair. “I still have those fans. Anytime you’d like a private dance, you have only to say so.”

“I may just take you up on that, Miss Fisher,” he said, reaching down to catch the bedclothes in one hand and draw them up over their entwined bodies. “Though first, I’d like to lie here and smell you for a while.”


	11. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has been out of town for more than a week, and she is very happy to come home to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from [Chapter 11 of Billets-Doux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908/chapters/13115491).

Phryne let herself into Jack’s house quietly; she hoped she could surprise him. She’d been able to hear him on the piano as she came up the walk. He seemed to be improvising on _Am I Blue?_ , which they’d heard in a motion picture. She smiled to herself—he wasn’t expecting her till tomorrow, but when she’d brought her case to a close earlier than expected, she’d set out immediately from Warragul to drive the two and a half hours home. Well, to Jack’s home, since he’d decided to stay there while she was away. She hadn’t seen Jack for ten days, and she didn’t want to waste another night.

Standing in his entryway now, she silently put down her bag and hung up her hat and coat. Bracing herself with one hand against the wall, she removed her shoes and then shimmied up her skirt to remove her garter belt and stockings, then her already damp knickers. She’d been thinking about him for hours, and now she was rather urgently aroused. Thank goodness she’d put her diaphragm in before she left her hotel.

Rounding the corner into his parlor on silent feet, Phryne took Jack in. He sat at his small upright piano—he’d purchased it a few months ago at auction; he said he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed playing—in just his singlet and trousers, his braces looped down around his hips. His head was bent over the keyboard, the back of his neck begging for her lips. She could see his corded biceps and forearms flexing as he played, and a glass of whiskey sat on the piano’s flat top at an easy distance. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He was so beautiful. His wide shoulders stretched the singlet so that his back muscles were delineated nicely, and his narrow waist led to round buttocks that moved as his feet worked the piano pedals.

Moving closer, she heard him sigh, and her lips curled as she reached to run her hands over his bare shoulders and press a kiss to the knob of his spine that his bent head revealed. He stiffened slightly, and turned to look at her, his smile bright.

“Are you really here, or only a figment of my imagination?” His voice—that wonderful voice—was warm, and he slid his hands around her waist. He’d loosened the pomade in his hair, and his curls had sprung free, dropping over his forehead in a way that made him look boyish.

“Oh, I’m real, darling,” she said, rounding the bench to kneel astride his lap, her arms curling around him as she bent her head to kiss him properly. He kissed her back, one hand sliding under the edge of her blouse to touch the skin of her back, the other dropping to her arse to pull her tightly against his cock, which had gone almost painfully hard as soon as he’d seen her—as soon as he’d smelled her fragrance, thinking that it was imagined. Jack moaned at the pleasure of her touch; he’d missed her, and though their letters had been lovely, they were no substitute for the reality.

“I want you inside me, Jack,” Phryne spoke against his mouth, voice ragged. She was grinding her hips against his, riding the ridge of his erection, but it wasn’t enough. Jack reached between them to unfasten his trousers and encountered her bare and very damp flesh. With a groan, he twisted his hand to cup her, and Phryne keened when he slid two fingers inside. Her hips bucked helplessly, and she flexed her knees to pump against him.

“Nnngh, Jack, not enough,” she whimpered, “not enough!” She pushed a hand down his chest to pull at the fastenings of his trousers and, sliding inside, gripped his cock. Jack slid his fingers out of her and covered her hand with his, helping her guide him into her body. “Ohhhhh, yeeeessss, Jaaaaack,” she groaned as he filled her, her head falling back on her shoulders.

Jack’s hands shifted to her hips, pushing up underneath her blouse to raise it and her camisole up so that he could put his mouth on her breasts. Phryne grasped the cloth, pulling it over her head, then reached back to unhook her brassiere. She wanted his mouth on her skin, and he obliged happily, laying the flat of his tongue against her nipple.

“Missed you,” he murmured against her, “god, you taste so good!” Phryne pushed her hands into his hair to keep him anchored, and began to flex her thighs, drawing herself up his hard length, then pushing down again, setting a quick rhythm. Jack covered her breast with his lips, pressing her nipple against the roof of his mouth as he suckled. He moved one hand up to cover her other breast, cupping the soft mound and capturing the distended nipple against the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

Jack pulled his head back from her breast and raised his eyes to her face. Her head was still thrown back, her hair was mussed, and the lipstick painting her open mouth was smudged. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and her eyes were closed, her eyebrows drawn together as she concentrated on the feel of him spearing into her body. Her breath was coming quickly, in sharp pants, and she let out a small noise each time his cock seated fully inside her. She was, he thought, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He slid the hand he still had under her skirt forward from her hip so that his thumb could reach her clit. At the first press on that sensitive spot, Phryne’s mouth opened wide and her head snapped forward, her eyes opening. He held her eyes and smiled as he slid his thumb over her with each thrust, stroking first one side of her clit, then the other, then directly over the top, where he curled it slightly to provide a sharper point of pressure. With a wail, Phryne came, slamming her hips down against him and clenching her hands on the back of his neck and his shoulder.

“That’s it, that’s it, love, I’ve got you,” he murmured, loving the way her eyes showed her stunned pleasure.

Her forehead dropped to his, and she whispered his name before she kissed him, her tongue pressing against his. Jack stroked her back, long sure sweeps of his hand. He was still hard, buried deep inside her, and he found himself wishing that they could just stay this way a while, connected and close. He held her, feeling the laxness of her muscles post-climax begin to fade into tenseness again, but she didn’t begin to move on him as he thought she would.

“I missed you, Jack,” Phryne pulled her lips from his to whisper. He felt her inner muscles squeeze him tightly, and she kissed him again. “I thought of you during my investigation,” she squeezed again, circling her hips without moving off of him. “And at night,” squeeze, “alone,” squeeze, circle, “in my bed,” squeeze, kiss. “I wished that I could call you,” squeeze, “and have you talk to me,” squeeze, circle, “while I touched myself,” squeeze, kiss, “wishing that my hands were yours.” Jack groaned, both at the sensation of his cock being massaged by her internal muscles and at the image her words created in his mind. He could see her, sitting in a phone booth in the lobby of her hotel, her skirts bunched up around her waist, one hand holding a telephone receiver to her ear while the fingers of her other hand slipped and slid between her thighs.

“The operator might not have appreciated that the way you would, darling,” he rumbled, choosing only one of the reasons her fantasy would never have worked, fighting the urge to thrust his hips as she continued her rhythm of squeeze and circle. He grasped her buttocks, squeezing along with her, and she drew in a sharp breath before letting it out in a huffing laugh.

“Oh, Jack, you really have no idea what that voice of yours can do,” she said, resting her arms on his shoulders as she increased the motions of her hips, adding a short slide-thrust to her squeeze and circle. He huffed out a small grunt, feeling her subtly forceful movements as pressure in his balls. Her voice was breathless as she continued, “that operator would likely have wished she was alone the way I was.” Her wicked smile drew a return one from him. He loved that she found his voice arousing. He wasn’t sure he believed that other people would too, but he was glad she thought so.

Keeping his hands on her bottom, he deliberately pitched his tone low and slow when he said, “I’m going to touch your breasts now, Phryne, can you feel it?” She laughed a little, dropping her forehead to his and continuing to work her hips against his as he went on, “My fingers are pinching your nipple softly… rolling it carefully… pulling at it.” He heard her breath quicken, and the rhythm of her thrusts became less smooth; his own breath stuttered in his chest. He cleared his throat slightly, then went on. “I’m putting my mouth on your breast now, Phryne,” he said, watching her face. “You taste so good, sweet and salty... I’m… I’m licking my tongue up the bottom curve of your breast now… my tongue is warm and wet… it’s touching your nipple.  Can you feel me licking you?”

“Oh my god, Jack,” she whimpered, beginning to thrust harder against him.

“I’m going to move… down your body now… Phryne,” he continued, his own breathing becoming labored. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be capable of coherent speech; the feeling of Phryne’s wet heat swirling and squeezing along his cock was very distracting. “I’m going to put my… my mouth between your legs. Can you—uh—can you feel me—fuuuuuckkkk!” She had done some sort of extra twist with her hips as she thrust herself down his length, ending with a compression of his testicles, and Jack all but felt the top of his head come off. His hands on her bottom squeezed, pulling her to him as he came, hard. She followed him over, his name a wail, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He felt her internal muscles convulsing along his length, and he moaned her name.

When he could move, he tilted his head down to nestle against the curve of her neck, kissing her there softly.

“Sometime,” she panted, stroking a hand across the short, soft hair at the back of his head, “we should try that again when you’re not actually touching me.”

“Fine,” he said, “but not over the phone.” She laughed. “And as long as I get to touch you afterward.”

“That sounds more than fair, darling,” she said, pulling his head up to kiss him softly on his smiling mouth.


	12. In the Dark

Phryne glanced over at Jack, tucked into the bed in their weekend getaway cabin. He was propped up, his bare chest on display and a look in his eyes that told her she wouldn’t need the nightgown she was currently wearing. Smirking, she crossed her arms to lift it over her head, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen at the sight of her completely bare body. Holding her eyes, he reached over to twitch the covers of the bed back in invitation.

Turning to give him a good look at her backside in addition to her front, Phryne flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. She gasped, unprepared for how shockingly dark it became—they were out in the country, away from any artificial light from cars and streetlamps, and it was a new moon night, so there seemed to be no natural light in the room at all. Her breathing quickened, and her hand on the switch hesitated—this was almost _too_ dark, and she felt her muscles tensing.

“Come to bed, Phryne,” Jack’s voice was a rumble, and she knew that he was only a few steps behind her. Rolling her lips together with determination, she turned and took four shuffling steps, her hands outstretched, carefully feeling her way across the wooden floor with her toes until her knees came into contact with the bed. Phryne bent to smooth her hands across the bed, searching for the covers so that she could slide beneath them. Her searching hands met Jack’s warm skin, and she climbed in, tucking herself close to him.

“You made it,” he said softly, his breath on her face sweet.

“It was a near thing,” she said, her voice small. “I hadn’t realized how dark it would be. It’s a little… unnerving. Reminds me of France, a bit.”

“Ah,” he breathed. He knew exactly what she meant. The nights in the trenches had been so dark sometimes that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, much less the person beside you. All of your other senses would come into play in the dark, the sound of the wind and the distant rumbling of vehicles that might be theirs or the enemy’s; the smell of the earth, roiled up by the feet of the men who fought on it, and tainted by cordite and gunpowder; the feeling of the breeze or the rain or the snow against your face. Jack didn’t have any good memories of being in the dark during wartime, and he doubted that Phryne did either.

“Let’s make some new memories of the dark, shall we?” He felt her nod against his chest, heard the soft whoosh of her breathing. Her hands crept up his back, pulling him close, and he reveled in the feeling of her breasts against his chest, her nipples pebbling at the contact.

He ducked his head to take her mouth, feeling the softness of her lips against his, and the smooth line of her teeth under his exploring tongue. Her taste struck him sharply; her whisky sweetness was always delicious, but it seemed richer tonight, somehow, and he lingered over his kisses. Phryne moaned quietly, the sound brushing against his eardrums, feather-light. He slid a hand from her waist to her back, her skin like silk against his fingers; his motions slowed, taking in every aspect of experiencing her through his other four senses.

Phryne arched against Jack, his fingertips tracing electric currents over her skin. She breathed him in, his spicy masculine scent so familiar to her and yet, in this moment, richer and more mouthwatering than she could ever remember it being before. His lips on hers were plush, his tongue smooth and sweet; the taste of him exploded in her mouth, flavors that she had never noticed before making themselves known. She tasted traces of their dinner buried under that of the whiskey they’d drunk after; add those to Jack’s natural flavor, with its hints of vanilla and spice, and all thoughts except kissing him fled her mind.

Her hands moved over his skin, the velvety softness of his back a contrast to the crinkly hair on his chest or the roughness of his fingertips. His hand moved to cup her neck, tilting her head to change the angle of his mouth on hers, and the gentle stroking of his fingers sent chills of excitement down her body. When he rolled her backward, laying himself over her, she felt the pressure of his body as a welcome weight, keeping her from flying away into the black nothingness of the dark room.

His hand on her neck swept down to her breast, his fingertips brushing her nipple with the most insubstantial of touches; the sheer weightlessness of the caresses made her focus on them, and when she did, it was as if he had a line directly to her clitoris. She felt her breath quickening, heard Jack’s breathing deepen, and wrapped one leg up around his hip in response, feeling the weight of his hard cock fall to lie atop her damp mound. Her hand swept down to grip his muscular buttock and urge him to move against her; she fancied that she could feel every ridge in his penis, with its wide, flared head smoothing through her wet folds.

Jack moved down her body and heard Phryne call his name in distress. He altered his caresses on her nipple, giving them more weight and ending with a small pinch, and this time, the intonation she put on his name was praise. With a smile, he trailed his lips down her neck, breathing in her scent, flowers and musk and sex. He could feel her hands sliding up his back, and when he found her nipple with his mouth, her fingers dived into his hair to keep him there.

He used his tongue to map the hard nub, licking from the softly smooth velvet of her breast to the pebbly texture of her aureole and up to press his lips around the distended end. When Phryne’s leg at his side lifted up to press her pelvis against his stomach, he covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking it in along with the skin around it and warming her with his breath. His hand on her other breast continued its fluttering touches, and he shifted to trail his mouth to join his fingers, lifting his other hand to plump and caress the breast he’d just abandoned.

Phryne’s hands roamed over Jack’s back and shoulders, the topography of his skin marked by the occasional rise of a mole or line of a scar. Her fingers trailing up his neck feathered against the short hairs at the base of his skull; her thumbs explored the line of his jaw and felt the hollowing of his cheeks as he suckled her. The slight roughness of his evening beard made her thumbs feel more sensitive, and she swept them up to trace his cheekbones, her fingertips running lightly along the outer shells of his ears.

He shuddered a little at the sensation—she felt it against her belly—and she did it again, swirling her fingers along the whorled ridges and bringing her thumbs down to lightly pinch his earlobes, the skin there soft and smooth. Jack’s stomach contracted against her mound; she thought that he must be pressing his cock hard against the bed, and she felt the tip of him brush lightly against her sensitive flesh. She smirked a little and repeated the caress, loving that even after more than a year together, she was still finding new ways to arouse him.

With a moan, Jack lifted his head, pulling away from her fingers.

“God, Phryne, if you want me to last, you’d better stop that,” his voice, gravelly with lust, seemed to surround her in the darkness, pressing against her skin.

“I wonder whether I could make you come from just playing with your ears, Jack,” she whispered, “but perhaps that’s a fantasy for another day.” She reached for him, wanting that contact, and her hands covered his where they rested on her chest, cupping her breasts.

Jack felt himself shudder again as her words ran through him. He hadn’t realized that his ears were an erogenous zone, but the aching hardness of his cock was a clear indication.

“That’s an experiment I’d be happy to be a part of,” he said. “But right now, I want the taste of you on my tongue.” Phryne drew in a moaning breath.

“I want the taste of you too,” she replied, her tone low and vibrating with arousal. “Shift over.” She slid her hands up to his shoulders and pushed him lightly to one side, moving her hips to align with him and feeling her way down his body to align herself with his crotch.

Jack felt her hands trail down his sides, lightly running over his stomach. He shifted, bending one knee to give her easier access, and ran his hands down her flanks. In the dark, he mapped the rise of her buttock, urging her to throw her leg over his shoulder, his fingertips lightly tracing the entrance to her body from behind as his mouth traveled over the tendons at the tops of her thighs. He nosed into the thatch of hair that covered her mound, reveling in the scent of her arousal, before trailing his mouth along the flesh that covered her clitoris. Stiffening his tongue, he burrowed in to press the sensitive nub, then cried out against her as he felt the hot wetness of Phryne’s mouth slide over his cock. With a gasp, he applied himself to her soft flesh, his hips surging gently against her as the taste of her juices coated his tongue.

Phryne stroked Jack’s sides and belly, her hands marking the dips and curves of his muscles, particularly the ones that served as a directional beacon from his hips down to his cock. He was hard and warm against her fingers, and when she stroked her thumb over his tip, she found it weeping tiny beads of fluid; she stroked her hand firmly down his length as she laid her tongue against his slit. She felt as much as heard his groan against the flesh between her legs, and knew that she’d added more wetness to the soft swirl of his fingers. He began to work her flesh and she moaned, the sound muffled by his cock; her thigh tightened involuntarily around his shoulder as he slid his fingers into her body while suckling at her swollen clitoris.

Jack’s fluids on her tongue tasted salty and slightly sweet, and she loved how the softness of his skin against her lips contrasted with the hard muscle beneath. She swirled her tongue around him, pumping her hand along his length; when she felt him start to pulse his hips, she pushed her hand to his base and took him into her mouth as far as she could manage, swallowing against his head before sliding back and sucking him down again. She ran her other hand up the inside of his thigh, cupping his balls and running her fingers over the skin around and behind them.

Without the distraction of light, Phryne could feel the veins in his penis as individual rivers against her tongue, and its ridges were more pronounced against her lips than she’d experienced before. Even his musky scent was amplified, and each time she pushed herself to the base of his cock, she reveled in the smell of his skin and sweat that she found between his thighs. She’d rest there for a few moments each time, her mouth full of his hard cock, breathing his scent, feeling his tongue between her legs. It was almost peaceful, the buildup of arousal and the closeness of their bodies.

Jack did his best to concentrate on what he was doing, using his fingers and lips and tongue to pleasure Phryne, rather than focusing on the feel of her mouth wrapped around his cock. He pushed two fingers inside her, curving them toward the front of her body as he pumped them in and out; his tongue licked and rubbed her clitoris and the flesh around it; his lips sucked at her, adding a layer of sensation. When he felt Phryne’s mouth slide down the side of his dick to tongue his balls while continuing to fist him with one hand, though, he paused in his ministrations, his stomach muscles clenching, his panting breaths hot on her flesh.

“Oh, god, Phryne,” he groaned, swallowing hard. He dropped his mouth to her thigh, sucking hard at its soft inner flesh, his nostrils flaring at the scent of her arousal mixed with that of her skin as he resumed the movement of his fingers inside her, fingers pressing hard against the front wall of her passage with each slow pull out. He heard her keening cry as he found the particularly sensitive spot inside her body, and he angled his thrust to hit it again. He felt her mouth cover the head of his cock again, her hand grasping his base; the suction she applied on each withdrawal was harder, and he felt the pressure begin to build at his groin.

“I’m close, Phryne,” he gasped, knowing that she usually didn’t mind it when he came in her mouth, but wanting her to have the option to avoid it. She hummed against his cock, the additional vibration ratcheting his arousal up even as she acknowledged that she’d heard him. He hooked his fingers inside her body, applying pressure to that sensitive place within, and latched his mouth onto her clit, wanting her to go over with him. When Phryne’s fingers on his balls moved to press the strip of skin behind them, he came hard, his groan leaking out around his lashing tongue as he felt Phryne’s orgasm shake her body, her thighs clenching against him.

They rested together, heads pillowed on the other’s thigh, until their breathing settled. With whispered words and soft touches, they moved to put their heads on the pillows, and Phryne pulled Jack to lie half atop her, one hand on her breast and one thigh thrown over hers. Now that they weren’t distracted, she wanted his weight on her to keep the dark at bay. She felt him drop a kiss on her temple.

“Better memory of the dark?” He murmured. He could feel that her body was starting to tense up again.

“Mmm, definitely,” she said, turning to cover his lips with hers, and loving the fact that her scent lingered on the skin of his cheeks and chin. “But I’ll sleep better if I can feel you. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind cuddling with you?” He wrapped himself more firmly around her. “Definitely. It’s a hardship. You’ll have to make it up to me later.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. I’m ready when you are.” Her voice dropped to a purr and her hand stroked his side.

“Well, as long as you’re ready,” Jack said, “I imagine that it won’t take me long to catch up.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and they proceeded to make some very happy memories of the dark.


	13. Morning in the Boudoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from chapter 14 of [Billets-Doux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908/chapters/14423983), in which Jack found some letters that Phryne wrote during the offscreen time that they were estranged after Blood at the Wheel; she’d been unable to get in to see him after he was injured in a raid. He was moved by what she had to say.

Jack quietly pushed open the door to their bedroom, letters clutched in his hand, and looked in at Phryne. As was her wont, she lay spread-eagled on her stomach, having expanded to cover the whole of the bed once he’d vacated his section; the sheets had slipped down to the middle of her back, exposing her smooth skin and the curve of her spine. Moving into the room, Jack closed the door behind him before going to stand beside the bed, looking down at her.

He traced her slumbering features with his eyes, noting her messy cap of sable hair and the pale alabaster of her skin, which was accented beautifully—at least to his eyes, though she’d disagree—by a smattering of freckles across her nose and shoulders. Her dark eyelashes swept in half-moons across her cheeks, and her naturally pale pink lips pouted slightly in sleep.

Jack’s heart clenched in his chest. He had never intended to love her so much. He’d known that he loved her two years ago when he’d tried to step back, but he had the idea that the crushing heartbreak he’d felt then had been mild compared to how he would feel if he lost her now. He’d had no idea how much more love he’d feel when he knew that she loved him back, when he let himself be a part of her life.

“I can feel you staring at me, Jack.”

Jack jumped a little, and smiled at his own woolgathering. “It’s only because you’re quite remarkably beautiful when you’re sleeping,” he said softly, seating himself on the side of the bed and reaching up to stroke her hair.

“Mmph,” she said, her disdain for his compliments so early in the morning evident in the tone of that syllable. “I’m sleeping,” she reminded him—and her eyes, quite firmly closed, bore this statement out.

“I know, darling,” he replied, “but I felt the need to— well, I’m not sure, but I think I want to share a long-overdue apology.”

Phryne’s carefully plucked eyebrows drew together over her pert nose.

“I haven’t done anything, have I?” Her voice was thick with sleep, and she still didn’t open her eyes. Jack let his smile spread.

“No, love,” he said, “I wanted to apologize to you, actually.”

“Whatever for?” She asked, smothering a yawn. “You haven’t done anything either.”

“Well, I have, actually,” he said, sobering as he looked down at the letters in his hand. “I’ve read some correspondence that, although it was addressed to me, was perhaps not meant for my eyes.”

At that, Phryne’s eyes opened slightly, the blue-green of her irises peeking out from under her lashes.

“I found these,” he lifted the letters so that she could see them at her current angle, “inside your Antony and Cleopatra.”

The confusion on Phryne’s face cleared, and her eyes opened fully. He watched her, trying to decide whether she was angry, but her poker face was as perfect as always. She lifted her head, propping herself up on her elbows.

“And what did you think of them?” Her voice was quiet, almost shy. She blinked slowly, raising her eyes to his face.

“I had no idea, Phryne,” he responded in a rush. “I wish I had—I thought you’d written me off, that you didn’t care that I’d been injured. I think I knew, even then, that I shouldn’t have pushed you away. You have no idea how badly I wanted you back.”

“You did?” Clutching the sheets to her breasts, Phryne sat up, turning to face him. “But you were so angry when I finally saw you at the college. You told me to go away—and you meant it, Jack.”

“By then, I’d convinced myself that you hadn’t come because you didn’t care. And if you didn’t care for me, then I wasn’t going to care for you.” He dropped his eyes to the letters in his hand. One line in the fourth letter, still on top of the pile, jumped out at him: _I have not allowed myself to care this deeply for any man in a very long time, and I never intended to care this deeply for you._

Her palm on his cheek was soft, and the kiss she pressed on his lips was tender. He looked up, meeting her eyes, and the love he saw in them made his heart swell.

“It’s fortunate, then, that I am exceedingly stubborn,” her voice was low and amused. Jack turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.

“Extraordinarily—” he caught her hand in his “—brilliantly stubborn,” he responded, before he covered her mouth with his own. Their kiss was warm and sweet, loving without being lustful, at least for the moment. When they broke apart, Phryne sighed quietly.

“I wrote those letters because I couldn’t come to you,” she said, her voice small. “I wished… well, I’m not sure what I wished at the time—I wasn’t ready to accept that you were different from the other men in my life. I only knew that I missed you terribly.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” he said. “Not that way.” He swallowed, lifting his head to let his eyes skate over her face. “I was being cowardly, and it served no purpose except to make me feel like a martyr.”

“I might disagree with that, actually,” Phryne replied, her voice trying for lightness. “If you hadn’t left, I might never have managed to uncover my own feelings. I was working hard to tell myself that we were only friends.”

“We were—we are friends,” Jack replied, stroking her cheek. “It just took us both a while to figure out that we were more, too.”

Phryne’s smile was sly. “And the _more_ we are is rather glorious, isn’t it, Jack?”

“It is,” he agreed, his tone fervent, and he kissed her again, more urgently this time. When he broke away, he said, “I cannot tell you how happy I am that you forced your way back into my life.”

“Yes, well, I’ve always had excellent judgement,” she said blithely, and he laughed. “Now really, Jack, it’s barely dawn on a Sunday morning, and you are wearing far too many clothes.” Pressing another kiss to his lips, she slid her hand into the hair at the back of his head and purred, “You owe me for waking me up so early. Come back to bed.”

“And if I do, Miss Fisher?” Jack’s sideways smile came easily now.

“If you do, my darling,” she said, letting the sheets fall and lying back against the pillows, her hand trailing softly down his jaw, “then you can apologize to me properly for reading my correspondence.”

Jack’s eyes heated with desire as he looked at her naked torso, illuminated by the morning sun. He never tired of this woman—not her body and certainly not her mind. First moving to place the letters carefully on the nightstand, he reached behind his head to pull off the sweater vest he wore over his casual shirt.

“However shall I make it up to you?” He said, pulling his shirttails out of his waistband before bringing his hands up to undo the buttons.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something, Jack,” she said, her hands sliding over her breasts and down her stomach to burrow under the covers.

“Here,” Jack said, his shirt now hanging open, “let me help you with that.” He leaned forward, his hands sliding under the covers to find her hips. Just as he’d suspected, she’d burrowed her fingers between her thighs and was stroking herself. Nudging her hands aside, he took over; sliding one hand between her thighs, he played with her, stroking gently and watching her face as he felt her flesh moisten.

“Well all right, since you’re here, Jack,” she said, stretching languidly as she opened her thighs to give him more room to work, “and you’re feeling so very… apologetic…”

Jack grinned. Phryne was never one to let an opportunity for pleasure pass her by. It was one of the things he loved most about her. He watched her face as he caressed her beneath the blankets; she brought her hands up to her breasts, tweaking her nipples, and her tongue came out to touch her upper lip. She closed her eyes, and her neck arched as he slid first one, then two fingers into her body. He brought his other hand around to press his palm against her mons while his fingers stroked and strummed her clit.

Phryne bent one knee, opening herself up to Jack’s ministrations. Her back arched as she began to move her hips, creating a rhythm against his fingers, and she let out a low moan of pleasure.

“Like that, Phryne?” Jack felt himself hardening as he watched her, but he didn’t adjust the covers or his own trousers. This was her moment.

“Mmm, Jack, yes,” her voice was breathy, and her eyes opened into slits. “But—ah!—it would be better if you used your mmmm-mouth.” She gasped a little as he twisted his fingers within her, pressing against her clit at the same time. “And—ooh—don’t neglect that talented tongue of yours.”

Jack chuckled. “Your wish is my command, my lady,” and he ducked his head under the covers, placing his mouth over her clit in the warm, fragrant darkness.

He heard her call his name, her voice muffled by the blankets, and felt her hand come to rest on his head, tangling in his hair. Concentrating on alternating suction with hard flicks and soft sweeps of his tongue, he threw himself into the task at hand. He continued the push and pull of his fingers, harmonizing with the movements of her hips. After a time, he lifted his head, surveying her swollen flesh in the small bits of light that seeped in around Phryne’s body; her pink petals shone wet with his saliva and her own juices. He licked his lips and smiled as she clutched hard at his hair.

“Don’t you dare stop now, Jack Robinson,” she growled, and he imagined her fierce face staring down at the lump his head made under the blankets.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he said, his mouth close to her clitoris. He blew softly across her turgid flesh, then covered it again with his warm lips. She keened, her legs coming around to press her heels into his back, and her hips beginning to buck as she reached for her orgasm.

Adjusting the motion of his fingers, he slid a third inside—her groan at the sensation was guttural—and continued to pump them, adding a twist to each stroke. At the same time, he cupped his tongue under her clit and closed his lips around it, suckling in strong pulses.

With a wail, Phryne came, her thighs shaking with pleasure, her legs clenching against his back, and her hands pulling at his hair as her back arched. Jack loved these moments, knowing that he’d helped her gain release. He continued the motion of his hands, but softened his mouth, lapping slow and easy at her clit to help her slide gently through the end of her climax.

When her hands in his hair relaxed enough to pet him, he withdrew his fingers from her body and crawled up the bed, the covers falling away as he pushed through them. Propping himself above her on all fours, his knees between her splayed thighs, he examined her as she lay languid in the aftermath. He was aroused, but he had no intention of doing anything about it. She was far too beautiful as she was, her hair mussed, her face pink, her lips swollen from being bitten.

Smiling, he kissed her, loving the way she looped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth under his.

“You all right, Miss Fisher?” He asked against her mouth.

“Mmm, apology accepted, inspector,” she replied with a smile, her eyelids drooping.

“Then I’ll let you get back to sleep,” he said softly.

Her eyes opened at that—not far, but far enough that she could look at him. Her keen gaze swept down his body, noting the bulge in his trousers that he was holding so carefully away from her.

“Surely not, Jack,” she purred, sliding one hand down to cup him. “Or at least, you could come and sleep with me.” She smiled up at him, lifting her head to nip at his mouth as her hand stroked and squeezed him. Jack felt his breathing grow choppier as his body responded to her touch. “Just for a little while,” she murmured, catching his lower lip between her teeth and stretching it slightly, her hands busily unfastening his trousers to dip inside and caress him.

“Nnnhh, Phryne,” he groaned at the feel of her hand on his flesh. “I was going to let you sleep.”

“We can sleep after, Jack,” she said, pushing his trousers down with her hands on his buttocks.

With a groan, he capitulated, lowering himself between her legs. She purred as his hard length nestled against her stomach, and her hands moved around him to capture his cock again, stroking it with a gentle pressure that made him gasp her name. He kissed her, his mouth covering hers with a passion that surprised him with its sudden intensity. He shifted, aligning his hard cock with the entrance to her body, and she guided him inside; they both gasped with pleasure as he seated himself.

He didn’t pause, beginning a strong rhythm immediately after that first plunge. Phryne lifted her legs, hugging them to his sides; her hands, still on his ass, clenched as he pumped in and out.

“Love… you… Phryne…” he muttered as he worked, his words seeming to push out of his chest with every stroke.

“Jaaaack,” she moaned, her head thrashing as his heavy thrusts pushed her quickly back up the slope of arousal. “God… yes… Jaaack!”

With a grunt, Jack changed his angle, pulling one knee up to nudge himself higher. The way that Phryne said his name told him that it was a good alteration, and he applied himself to slinging his hips faster, his breath heaving in his lungs as he worked to make her come. She slid one hand up from his ass to grip his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his muscles. When she came, he felt her nails push hard into his skin, and her whole body shuddered; the muscular pulses against his cock sent him flying as well, and he groaned into her neck as his hips stuttered out his release.

They lay entwined and panting for several long moments before Jack could raise his head and kiss her again, his softening member slipping out of her body.

“Hmmm,” she exhaled happily, her limbs relaxing back into the soft mattress as he levered himself off of her, hitching his trousers up to cover his bottom but not bothering to fasten them. She turned on her side, curling into his chest, and he stroked her hair.

“Darling Phryne,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

“I think I loved you when I wrote those letters,” she confessed sleepily, “but I couldn’t admit it then.” Her eyes closed, she smiled softly. “Thank you for loving me, Jack.”

He wrapped his arms softly around her and stroked her back, watching as she slipped back into sleep and wondering at the way his love for her had invaded every corner of his soul. Before too long, contentment and satiation weighted his eyelids, and he followed her into sleep, still holding her close.


	14. At the Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fern pays Detective Inspector Robinson a visit at the station.

Jack blinked, long and slow, looking at Phryne as she stood hip-shot in the doorway of his office. She was wearing a trench coat that covered her from neck to knees, and her face was heavily made-up—her eyes outlined with a smoky-dark kohl and the blood-red of her lips deeper than her usual scarlet. His eyes traced the waist-length braid she’d attached to her short hair; it trailed down between her breasts all the way to her hemline, drawing his gaze to the black stockings that encased her slim calves and on to her black, sequinned mary janes.

“Hallo there,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “I’ve come to lodge a complaint.” Her accent was different—more Collingwood than London—and her eyes were wicked. Jack glanced beyond her; the constable on duty was away from the desk at the moment, and Jack found himself glad. He remembered the night that he’d told Phryne about how, when she’d flashed him a view of her circus costume, he’d had to stay behind his desk reciting footy scores in his head for a full fifteen minutes before he’d been able to calm his arousal.

“Have a seat, Miss…?” he said, gesturing to her usual chair and keeping his face impassive. She really was a terrible influence on him. If anyone ever found out how often he debauched her (or was debauched by her) in his office, he would probably be sacked. But he couldn’t seem to keep himself from participating in her little stories.

“Fern Driscoll,” she said, sauntering into the office. Jack rose, conscious of her eyes on him as he moved. Stepping to the door behind her, he glanced out—the constable hadn’t yet returned to the desk—then closed it and quietly turned the lock; moving to the other door, he locked it as well. When he returned to his seat, he set his elbows on the arms of the chair and folded his hands over his flat stomach as he looked at her. She had swept off her trench coat while his back was turned, and she now sat there in the iridescent flames over sheer netting that made up her carnival dress.

“And what can I do for you, Miss Driscoll?” He kept his voice low, intimate. “A complaint, you said?”

“Yeah,” she responded. “I wanna know why the police don’t serve us carnival folk like they’re s’posed to.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. Jack noticed—with an immediate rise in his already heightened interest—that her skirt was slit up the sides all the way to her waist and, unlike the last time she’d worn this outfit, her stockings stopped mid-thigh. Her current position exposed at least eight inches of creamy white thigh to his heated gaze.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jack rumbled. He felt his cock stiffening, his eyes moving to focus on the movement of her unbound breasts beneath the flesh-colored netting and her pointed nipples, which were barely covered by the shimmery black swirls. The flash of her thigh and his speculation about whether she was wearing any knickers—he’d bet she wasn’t—only made the situation harder. So to speak.

Fern stood and crossed to stand beside him, her hips rolling with every step; he turned his chair to face her. Leaning over, she placed a hand on each of the arms of his chair, above where his elbows rested, her scent—French perfume, arousal, and that indescribable note that was hers alone—making his nostrils flare. Jack licked his lips.

“I mean,” she purred, placing a hand on his tie and giving a slight tug, “that the coppers of City South don’t give nearly enough attention to us working girls as they should. I’m positively lonely.” She released him and reached between her thighs to pull the front panel of her dress aside. Jack’s suspicions had been right—she wasn’t wearing any knickers.

Jack leaned forward to run one hand up from her knee, the soft rasping of his fingers against the silk of her stocking seeming loud in the quiet room. Cupping the back of her thigh, he slid his fingers along the crease of her buttock to flutter across the damp flesh of her sex.

“Well, Miss… Driscoll, did you say? Perhaps you need to show the police the kind of attention you’d like them to show you. Do unto others, as it were.” His eyebrows kicked up as he gazed at her, aiming for his best stone face, though he knew that his lips had lifted in a smirk.

“Oh, is that the way of it?” Fern cocked a dark eyebrow at him, allowing her skirt to fall as she rolled her hips against his fingers.

Jack nodded solemnly, and held her eyes as he dropped his hands to his trouser fastenings. He freed his cock and wrapped a hand around it, pumping softly.

“Issat what you want then,” her eyes were hot as they followed his movements. “My hand on you?”

“I’ll take your hand, but I’d rather your mouth, actually,” he growled, and he pushed his chair back slightly, making room for her as she slid to her knees and reached for him, brushing his hand out of the way.

“My mouth? Not my quim?” She leaned forward, licking from the base of his cock all the way to the head. Jack stifled a groan.

“Oh, I want that too,” his head fell back as she began to work him with her mouth, the wetness and suction pulling his attention. “When I’ve had enough of this, I’ll bend you over my desk and _service_ you as hard as you like.”

Fern hummed her pleasure at this idea, redoubling her efforts to give him pleasure. She tucked her fingers into his trousers and scooped his balls out so that she could pull them into her mouth one by one.

Jack’s low moan at the slurping sounds she made caught him by surprise, and he lifted his head to look down at her. She was working him with her mouth and tongue, one hand buried between her thighs; he could smell the scent of her arousal and hear the soft sounds that meant she was using her fingers to fuck herself.

“None of that, now,” he said, and when she looked up at him, her blue eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure. “Can’t have you taking care of that business on your own, can we?” He caught her under the arms and helped her to her feet; when she was standing he took the fingers of the hand she’d been using on herself and cleaned them with his tongue. She made a soft sound of pleasure as she watched him, stepping closer to press the front of her body to his.

“Right then.” Releasing her fingers, he spun her around to face his desk and, with a hand at the back of her neck, bent her forward until her chest was pressed to his blotter. “So you wanted servicing, did you?” He lifted the back of her skirt, dropping his hands to the soft globes of her buttocks as he lightly kicked her legs open. Stepping in, he fitted his cock to her passage and pushed in smoothly, listening to Fern’s moan as he seated himself to the hilt.

Cupping his hands around her hips, he muttered, “Brace yourself, Fern,” and began to thrust. Settling into a rhythm, he made each stroke with the length of his cock, his hips swinging loosely and his thighs and ass clenching with effort.

Fern raised one arm to her face, pressing her mouth into it to muffle her cries, and wrapped the fingers of the other around the far side of the desk to brace herself.

“You like that, do you, Fern? I can tell you do; you’re so wet I’m practically swimming.” The soft slapping of his hips against her ass was hypnotic for both of them as his pace increased. Fern arched her back, changing the angle of his thrusts and lifting her breasts from the desk; Jack took the opportunity to slide his hands around her chest to cup them both, squeezing with each thrust of his hips.

“Oh yeah, mister inspector sir, that’s the way,” she breathed as his rhythm changed to a repeated pattern of a hard thrust followed by a slow grinding. Hitching his hips to push her up to press against the edge of the desk, Jack repeated the motion—now, her clitoris was being compressed against the wooden surface with every grinding motion. He lifted a hand to cover her mouth when her whimpers became harder to suppress.

“Can’t have the whole constabulary in here, can we,” he breathed into her ear. “They’d all want a go at you, my lovely, and I want you all. To. Myself.” On each of the last three words, he thrust hard, the power behind each thrust making her whole body jolt.

Fern grasped the wrist of the hand he’d placed over her mouth, but rather than pulling it away, she clung to it. Opening her lips, she sucked his middle finger in, her tongue massaging it as she had his cock earlier; Jack shuddered against her, his rhythm faltering. Crossing his other hand over her chest to cup her opposite breast, he pulled her up so that she was almost standing against him as he continued to thrust.

“Touch yourself, _Fern_. Make yourself come.” His voice was low against her neck, and he took a small step back from the desk to make room for her to obey his command. She moaned, sliding a hand under the front of her skirt and over her clit, her back arching to press her breast into his hand. It only took a few moments of additional pressure from her fingers—and Jack’s mouth fastening onto the side of her throat—before she came apart in his arms. With a grunt and a final thrust, Jack came too, his arms tightening around her as his muscles locked in pleasure.

Relaxing, Jack stepped back to collapse into his chair, his chest heaving. Fern dropped her hands to the desk as she caught her breath. Turning, she leaned back, eyeing Jack. He grinned at her, twisting to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket before leaning forward to wipe at the moisture on her inner thighs.

When he was finished, she took the cloth from him and returned the favor, tucking him back into his trousers with an affectionate pat. He stroked a hand down her flank as she moved around the desk to pull her trench coat back on and check her face in her pocket mirror. As she headed toward the door to the front desk, he followed to open it for her.

“Thank you for your assistance, inspector,” she said, grinning cheekily up at him.

“The Victoria Police Force are happy to serve you at any time, Miss Driscoll.” His drawl was wry, as was his smile.

“I’ll just bet you are.” She winked, and with a tilt of her head, turned to sashay away.

Jack shook his head as he watched her go. She’d get him into trouble yet, but he couldn’t make himself regret any of it.


	15. Wardlow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation, of a sort, to the previous chapter - I hadn't intended it to wait so long!

Phryne sat on the window seat in the darkened parlor, her fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, her robe pulled tightly around her. She stared out the front window, a smile playing over her lips as she thought about the way Jack had received her little costume earlier in the evening. She’d been wanting to bring “Fern” to Jack’s office again since she’d flustered him so with her costume the first time. Apparently, he’d wanted that too, given his enthusiastic participation in their role-playing. Her smile spread to a grin as she contemplated what they’d done. She had plans for her delicious inspector when he got home.

A movement outside the window caught her eye—here he was now. She composed her face into seriousness, suppressing the smile that wanted to break free. Listening quietly to his key in the lock—that sound still, even after all this time, thrilled her with its _rightness_ —she tried to put herself into the character she’d settled on.

She heard the jingle of his key falling into the small dish on the sideboard, then the muffled _thump_ of his briefcase on the floor beneath it and the rustling as he hung up his coat and hat. He took one step toward the stairs, then two, and she spoke.

“Hello, Jack.” She kept her voice flat. “Late night, then?”

At the sound of her voice, he turned and came to stand in the doorway to the parlor. “Phryne? What are you doing, sitting in the dark?” He reached to flip on the light switch.

“Don’t.” She stopped him.

His hand paused. “Is everything all right?”

“Hm,” she said, taking a deliberate sip of her whiskey, knowing that the pale light of the street lamp outside would show him her silhouette. “I understand you had a… special visitor at the station this evening. A magician’s assistant, wasn’t she?”

“I did, yes,” he said, his voice sounding slightly confused as he moved into the room. Phryne could tell he wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this, but he was willing to play along.

“Is this how you honor our arrangement, then? Am I supposed to believe that you simply _took her complaint_ and ushered her out?” She turned to look at him, her voice sharp. “Really, Jack. You said you’d tell me if you chose to take another lover.”

Jack sighed. “Phryne, darling, you’re making more of it than it was. I simply—”

“You simply laid her over your desk and rogered her silly, that’s what you did, Jack. I have it on very good authority!”

She could hear his smile starting in his voice. “Well, I think that’s a bit of an overstatement, honestly… and I have to admit that I was thinking of you the entire time.”

Phryne pursed her lips to keep herself from smiling, narrowing her eyes at him. “Oh _were_ you?”

Jack came to sit beside her on the window seat, lifting her legs from where she’d stretched them out to pull them across his lap. Her robe slid open around her knees, and he laid a hand on one calf, stroking her lightly.

“I truly was,” he rumbled, taking her whiskey with his other hand and draining the last swallow before setting the glass aside on the drinks tray. Turning back to her, he moved close, planting a hand beside her hip on the cushions, the fingers of his other hand playing lightly up the inside of her legs.

Phryne crossed her arms over her chest. “And what were you thinking? How _long_ it had been since you’d had a good shag, and here was an opportunity that you just couldn’t pass up?”

“Absolutely not. I was thinking of how much she looked like my lover, with her silky black hair and her bright blue eyes and her red lips.” His hand was stroking the inside of Phryne’s thigh now, and she let her muscles loosen to give him more room. “I was thinking that if it had been _you_ standing there in my office doorway in a _very revealing_ dress, you’d have found something that would let me have access to your beautiful neck,” he nuzzled into her, his lips trailing softly up her throat, sending shivers through her.

His hand between her legs had reached the apex of her thighs, and his fingers had set to work on her naked sex, stroking into her folds. Phryne’s head fell back and her crossed arms loosened, one falling to grasp the bicep of the arm he was braced on and the other moving to lie limply on her chest.

“And if it had been you in my office, you’d have given me access to your beautiful breasts,” his voice was low against her skin as he moved his head lower to nudge the fabric of her robe aside and take her nipple into his mouth, suckling softly.

Phryne sighed happily, the hand on her chest reaching up to burrow into his hair, holding him close as the familiar feeling of his fingers between her thighs made her eyes flutter shut. He slid one long finger, and then two, inside her body, his thumb continuing its steady thrumming pressure on her clitoris. He moved his head, switching to her other breast, and Phryne stroked his hair softly.

“I suppose you’re forgiven,” she murmured, her breath coming quickly, and he lifted his head, his hand still busily stroking in and out of her body.

“I’m so glad,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, his mouth closing warmly over hers as he twisted and curled his fingers, adding another layer of sensation.

With a cry, Phryne came, her climax a slow wave of pleasure that warmed her from head to toe. Her thighs pressed tight against his wrist, she held his mouth to hers as she softly shook.

When her fingers finally loosened in his hair, Jack pulled his head back, leaving his fingers deep inside her.

“And if I should receive a visit like today’s in the future, do I have your permission to proceed?” His voice was soft, and his eyes ran over her, taking in what she knew must be her complete dishabille.

“I might need a little more convincing before I’m willing to make such a sweeping statement as that one,” she murmured, loving the way that his eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.

“In that case,” he said, pulling his fingers from between her legs and lifting them to his mouth. Phryne’s gasp at the feel of his retreat turned into a moan at the sight of his tongue as he licked himself clean. When he was done, he slid his arm under her knees and his other behind her back, before leaning forward and pushing with powerful thighs to stand with her in his arms. She squeaked slightly with surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself to his chest.

“In that case,” he said again, leaning to kiss her. “I have some work to do. Come now, Miss Fisher. Let’s see if I can’t convince you that the occasional frolic with Miss Fern Driscoll is in your best interest.”

“Do your worst, copper,” she laughed, and let him carry her to the boudoir, where he made a very convincing case indeed.


	16. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from chapter 15 of [Billets-Doux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908), in which a drunk and lonely Phryne wrote Jack a letter asking him to come home from the weeks-long secondment he’d been on.

Jack stepped off the late train from Sydney and looked around for a cab. He wished now that he’d sent a note to Mr Butler, asking him to line Bert and Cec up to collect him, but he hadn’t wanted to tip Phryne off about his early arrival. He’d received her drunken letter only two days ago. As it was unlike her to ask him so clearly to return, he’d wrapped up his interrogations and then spent a sleepless night finishing the paperwork so that he could hop the first available train back to Melbourne. He felt fortunate that a bunk had been available—the eleven-hour journey would have felt interminable if he’d had to sleep sitting up, but he knew that if those seats all there had been, he’d have taken one.

Trying to sleep in that narrow bunk, packed in beside other travelers with only a thin curtain as a barrier to sound—and it wasn’t much of a barrier, as some of the others on the train were proving—he’d done his best not to think too much about what awaited him at home for fear that he’d end up spending the journey in an agony of arousal. He’d had almost as much trouble sleeping as she had while he’d been away, even with the exhaustion of a difficult case to assist him. Most nights, he’d woken in the early hours, around the time that she was accustomed to joining him in bed, his cock half-hard in expectation. Realizing that she was so far away had made going back to sleep harder than it should have been.

Standing on the platform, he cricked his neck from side to side, picked up his case, and started walking, his overcoat flapping behind him. He’d likely find a taxi somewhere between here and Wardlow. He wondered, as he walked, whether Phryne had found something to help her fall asleep. He was pretty certain that she wouldn’t have brought someone home, not without talking to him first, so unless she’d taken up meditation or hypnosis, she was likely still having trouble. He looked forward to assisting her with it.

All the windows were dark at Wardlow when he finally reached it, having managed to hail a cab a few blocks from the train station, and Jack was thankful that he had a key. He paid the driver and made his way up the steps to let himself in by the big front door. As quietly as possible, he set his case under the coat tree and removed his overcoat and hat. He began loosening his tie before he even hit the stairs, and by the time he reached the top, he’d unbuttoned both his waistcoat and shirtfront. He paused outside Phryne’s door to remove his shoes, not wanting to wake her if she had managed to sleep. At least, not wanting to wake her _yet_. He smiled, thinking of it.

Stepping inside her boudoir, he closed the door noiselessly behind himself and paused for a moment, breathing in her scent. This scent was high on his list of those that said Phryne to him. Perfume and fragrant bathing salts and the essence of woman. All it needed to be perfect was the addition of whiskey and sex.

Letting out his breath, he set the shoes under the edge of the sofa before turning to the bed. Moonlight shone down on the woman who lay diagonally across it. He shook his head, his smile widening. How did someone so small manage to take up so much room? Her black bob was tousled with sleep, and she had wrapped her arms around a pillow. As he removed his cufflinks, he peered closer. Was she wearing one of his gardening shirts? His smile turned wicked. He’d need to have that back.

He moved into the dressing room and quickly peeled off his clothing, dropping the cufflinks into the small bowl intended for them that sat atop her lingerie cabinet. He considered whether to don pajamas but decided that they’d just be in the way. Moving back into the bedroom, he could feel his cock rising and bobbing in the warm night air as all the images he’d denied himself on the train came flooding in—Phryne riding him, or on her knees, or under him, or in countless other positions that all had the same thing in common: His cock sliding into her welcoming body. Three weeks was far too long to be apart. Silently sliding open the drawer on his nightstand, he withdrew a condom and set it within easy reach before climbing under the covers beside her.

He carefully extracted the pillow she’d been cuddling, ignoring her sleepy protest. Pushing it under his head, he inserted himself in its place. Phryne’s hands stroked across his torso, pulling him closer; he wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair. She snuggled in, sliding her legs, bare under the edge of the shirt she wore, against his. He felt his cock lengthening even more as it pressed against her soft stomach. He was almost home now—only a few inches of separation were left to overcome, as soon as he could wake Phryne to participate. He stroked a hand down her back, rolling her slightly so that he could kiss her beneath her ear.

“Mmm, Jack,” she breathed.

She arched her neck to give him better access, and he took it, running his lips down the tendon on one side to her shoulder. He pushed the collar of the shirt aside so that he could fasten his mouth to the spot at the base of her neck that usually made her moan; he smiled when she proved him right.

He unbuttoned the front of the shirt she wore as quickly as he could, wanting her skin; he brushed it aside to cover her breast with his hand, unsurprised to find that she hadn’t worn a nightgown beneath the soft flannel. Her legs shifted against him again as she pressed closer, her hand finding its accustomed grip at the back of his head. His cock got impossibly harder when she ran her hand up his neck to grasp at the place where the short, soft hairs at the base of his skull changed to the longer waves at the top, and he couldn’t suppress a groan. He supposed that he should be worried for the state of his scalp with the way she pulled there, but instead, he found it undeniably erotic. Ducking his head, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, his hand on her breast sweeping slowly down her side to her thigh, urging her to raise it over his hip.

“Oh, Jack, yes,” she whispered, and he could tell the moment when dream turned into waking. She stiffened slightly. “Jack?” Lifting her head, she stared at him with bleary eyes. “It’s about time!” She melted against him, tugging at his head to bring his mouth to hers even as she rolled backward, pulling him on top of her.

Jack growled her name as he settled between her thighs, his cock lying squarely across the heat of her sex as she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. He kissed her back, the flavors of her—first her nipple, then her mouth—bursting over him. He’d made himself play down how much he missed her over his time away, or he wouldn’t have been effective in his duties. Being with her, so close and so intimate, righted something he’d refused to see was askew, and the relief was enormous. He closed his eyes, all of his attention focused on their kiss and the warmth of her body beneath his. After long minutes in which he reacquainted himself with the taste and textures of her mouth, his body wrapped around hers and hers wrapped around his, she pulled her head away to bury her face in his neck.

“My Jack, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” She hugged him even harder, pressing her hips up into his, the moisture between her thighs letting her slide easily against him. “I would have met you at the train.”

He could feel her lips on his skin as she spoke, butterfly touches that zinged through his body, straight to his groin. He couldn’t control the way his hips rocked against hers in response, but he did his best to harness the motion and rub his cock over her clit. Ducking his head, he laid it beside hers, his lips near her ear as he murmured his response.

“I got your letter and was inspired to finish as quickly as I could.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the scent and feel of her, nuzzling at her with his nose and lips. “And I wanted to surprise you.” She shivered against him, rolling her hips in return.

“Mmm, I like surprises,” she responded, stroking the palm she’d laid open on his back down to his buttock to urge him against her again. He opened his mouth against her neck, suckling softly at the place where it met her shoulder. She moaned. “It’s been too long—my fingers can’t reach what you can, Jack. I need you inside me.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

He nodded, biting down softly around the small red spot he’d created before soothing it with a soft lick. Lifting his head, he eyed the condom he’d set out—too far to reach.

“Hold on, Miss Fisher,” he grunted, and rolled with her.

She squeaked out a laugh but followed his lead, sitting up when she ended atop him. Laying her hands flat on his chest, she undulated her hips against his hardness, sliding back and forth across him, and he groaned. She was a vision, his gray flannel shirt engulfing her petite frame, its buttons opened down the front so that her porcelain skin was visible from collarbone to mons.

“Are you raiding my closet now?” He reached out to pluck the condom from the bedside table and hold it out to her in mute appeal. She took it, removing the packet wrapper, and he set his hands on her waist as she continued to pulse against him.

“Mmm,” she said, shifting backward slightly so that she could wrap her fingers around his cock, stroking him gently before squeezing just beneath his head. “I’d hoped it would smell like you, but it didn’t. Mr. Butler is far too efficient to leave clothing unlaundered for three weeks.” Her tongue came out to rest against her upper lip as she watched herself caress him.

“Phryne,” he pleaded, and she glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. He raised himself up on one hand, his other reaching for the back of her head to bring her lips to his. “You’re killing me.”

She laughed against his mouth. “And you love it, Jack Robinson,” she whispered, her hand on his cock now pumping firmly up and down, her thumb sweeping across his tip. He groaned out a laugh, his head dropping to her shoulder as his focus narrowed to that hand and its motion. He breathed in deeply, reaching for control.

“I really, really do.” The words came out low and needy, almost a growl. He breathed in again, catching the essences of her. “This shirt smells like you now.” He caught the tail of it in his free hand, bringing it up and to his nose. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed in the aroma that lingered there—arousal and perfume and sweat, all mingling together in the sweetest combination he knew.

“Well, of course it does, Jack.” Her breath wafted hot and sweet against his ear. “I’ve worn it to bed for three nights now.” She nipped lightly at his earlobe as she spoke, her tone low and filthy. “I worked hard to get to sleep every night, using my fingers and my toys, but it doesn’t smell the same when it’s only me coming.”

Jack did growl then, his hand reaching for the condom. “I want inside you. Now.”

Phryne held it out of reach, laughing, as she sat up again and wagged a finger at him.

“So impatient.” Her tone was chiding, but she rolled the condom onto him nonetheless.

Setting her hands on his shoulders, she rose to her knees and shuffled forward until she was straddled directly over him. Jack reached between them to take himself in hand. He was long enough that his cockhead could just reach her, and he pressed it to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, pressing and rolling it back and forth over her. He watched her face, loving the way that her eyes went unfocused. Leaning his head forward, he caught one of her nipples between his lips, licking it gently across the tip as he continued to tease her with his cock.

She let out a shuddering breath. “All right, Jack, you’ve made your point.”

“So impatient, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, grinning up at her.

She returned his smile and slid her hand up to thread into his hair again; together they shifted to position the head of his cock at her opening. Holding his eyes, she sank down upon him. Jack kissed her, unable not to, as the heated silk of her body engulfed him. She kissed him back, tiny movements of her hips rippling sensation along his length, her hands moving to cup his jaw as they both tilted their heads to deepen the kiss.

“I missed you,” he breathed against her mouth when their lips parted.

“I missed you too,” her words were just as soft. She kissed him one more time, tenderly, before pushing him to lie back down, her hands braced on his pectorals again. “And I missed this.”

She began to move on him, sliding up his length and then back down, slowly at first, and then gathering momentum. He raised his hands to her breasts, loving their soft weight in his palms; he pinched her nipples lightly between his thumbs and forefingers. Phryne’s teeth caught at her bottom lip, and her head fell back as she pumped her hips. Jack set his jaw—he was so close to coming already, but he wanted her with him. He dropped a hand from her breast to slide his fingers into the slick warmth between her thighs, gently rubbing at the turgid nub of her clit.

Phryne gasped and shifted her hands from his chest to his thighs, leaning back as she rode him harder. He withdrew his fingers as she got situated, and she growled at him.

“Do that again!”

Chuckling, he obediently put his fingers back, continuing his gentle massage of her clitoris, his other hand cupping her hip. He loved the way that her breasts bounced with her motions—he panted as he focused his attention on making her come.

“You feel so good, Phryne,” he ground out, his hips surging against her in counterpoint to her rhythm. The drag of his cock against her inner walls with every stroke was exquisite. He swallowed hard, forcing words out—she loved it when he talked dirty, he knew, and at this point he was close enough that he needed all the help he could get to push her over into orgasm. “You’re so beautiful, especially when you’re fucking me. I love the look on your face when you come, the way that your mouth opens and your breasts flush and your nipples harden…” he was gasping now, his fingers on her clit accelerating. He cupped his hand between her legs, his long fingers reaching back to add pressure to the ring of flesh already stretched tight around his cock, the heel of his hand rubbing her clit.

“Keep talking, Jack,” she panted, sliding her own hand under his palm to her clit. She ground down against him, hard, before beginning to pump again.

“What I love best, though, is how your body clenches around me.” He reached around to press the fingers of his hand on her hip into the soft flesh of her ass as his other hand continued to stimulate the flesh around her opening—around his cock. “You squeeze and squeeze and squeeze me until I can’t help but come myself. I’ve never come so hard as when I’m with y—Phryne!”

She wailed, her body spasming around his; contracting forward, she caught herself against his chest as she came, her mouth open and her eyes shut. With a hoarse shout, Jack followed her over, pulling her hips down to hold himself deep within her as release shuddered through him. Her bracing arm collapsed when she’d ridden through the orgasm, and he wrapped his arms around her as she lay atop him. She turned her head to kiss his jaw; he turned to meet her lips with his, their kisses soft and loving.

“Welcome home, darling,” she said softly.

“Best welcome I could imagine.”

They held each other for a long moment before Jack rolled her to the side and withdrew, rising to dispose of the condom. When he returned, Phryne had tugged the covers back into place and had removed his shirt, her bare shoulders resting against the pillows. Smiling, Jack climbed into bed and moved close to wrap his arms around her waist and lay his head on her breast. Phryne lifted her hand to run her fingers through his hair. He listened to her heart beating, and felt her chest expand as she breathed deeply.

“That’s it, Jack,” she said, her voice soft.

“Mmm?” He was almost asleep, the warmth of her body and the feeling of her fingers in his hair having released all of his lingering tension.

“The smell that I was missing.” Laughter threaded through her voice, resonating beneath his ear. “I told you about it in my letter.”

“Ah, of course.” He breathed in deeply, noting the tang of their sweat and the mingled scents of sex and perfume. “It is rather wonderful, isn’t it?” It seemed to him to be a perfect melding of the two of them, together.

“Mmhmm.” She yawned, one hand sliding from his hair to stroke his shoulder.

He turned his head to press a soft kiss to her breast before he spoke again.

“Next time I have to go away, I’ll set aside an unlaundered shirt for you to sleep in.”

“I’ll do you one better.” Her voice was sleepy, and he closed his eyes, smiling as he listened. “Next time, I’ll go with you.”


	17. A Good, Strong Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from chapter 17 of[ Billets-Doux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908/chapters/24681549), in which Phryne writes to Jack at work to tell him that she's been lustfully compromised by the sight of him lifting something heavy while wearing a sleeveless undershirt. Jack's been unable to get away to help her in her distressed state, but it's finally time to go home - he's certain that he'll enjoy whatever it is she has planned.
> 
> My June entry for Phrack Fucking Friday!

Jack let himself into the front hall within ten minutes of the end of his shift. Miss Fisher would have been amazed at how fast he’d made the trip—his previous record was seventeen minutes, and he thought perhaps he’d never tell her about this one.

Jack headed up the stairs, shrugging out of his suit jacket and laying it over his arm before beginning to unbutton his waistcoat. As he walked, he wondered absently where Mr. Butler was; he thought it likely that Phryne had given him the evening off, since they wouldn’t be coming down to dinner. His smile at that thought was small and a little smug. By the time he reached the door to their bedroom, he had undone his tie and was working on his shirt buttons. He could feel himself hardening in anticipation of what he’d find on the other side of that door.

Turning the knob, he stepped through and closed the door behind him. He loved this room, in all its feminine colors and textures; the mixture of Phryne’s perfume and his own soap that seemed to always mingle in the air said _home_ to him now. He took a deep breath of it, and noted the additional scents of fresh-baked bread and something meaty, plus the bright note of strawberries. _Perfect_.

“Phryne?”

“Jack! At last!” She stepped out of the en suite bathroom, her hands raised to fasten a sparkling silver earring in place, and Jack’s arousal ratcheted up almost immediately. 

She wore blue today, a rich dark shade that made her eyes seem like pieces of night. The dress was more casual than she usually chose, its fabric some sort textured linen, like she might wear to the beach. Its neckline was square cut, and deep enough to reveal the top curves of her breasts; the straps ran smoothly over her shoulders, without sleeves to impede his view of her arms. Her feet were bare, her toenails shining with bright red varnish, and her skirt swirled around her thighs with every step. She stopped a few feet away, seeming to notice his dumbfounded expression. 

“Do you like it, Jack? I ordered it from Paris—the very latest in beach wear. There’s a hat, as well, but that seemed a bit much for an indoor picnic.” Her red-slicked lips turned up at the corners, and she turned lazily to let him see the deeply square-cut back that revealed smooth skin down to the middle of her back.

“You’re stunning,” he managed, and her smile grew tender.

She walked toward him, and he leaned sideways to drape his jacket, waistcoat, and tie across the arm of the sofa.

“Let me help you with those.” She came closer, her hands nudging his out of the way as she took over unbuttoning his shirt. “How was your day?”

“Dull,” he admitted, his fingers working to unfasten his cufflinks. “More paperwork than I want to see again in a long, long time.” 

His task done, he lifted a hand to trace his finger along the edge of her neckline from her shoulder to where the fabric cut horizontally across her chest; the linen of her gown was soft, but not nearly as soft as her skin. Phryne smiled up at him as she pushed his braces off of his shoulders and tugged his shirttails free. Slipping around him, she grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled it off of his arms, her fingertips coasting softly down the skin revealed by his white vest; Jack saw his shirt flutter toward the sofa, but all of his attention was on the woman moving around in front of him again. She held out her hand, and he looked from it to her face, his mind blank.

“Cufflinks?” She said, her fingertips wiggling.

“Oh, right,” Jack murmured, dropping them into her palm. 

With a small smirk, Phryne closed her fingers around them and turned to drop them into a small dish atop her jewelry chest.

“Shoes, Jack,” she chided, turning around to see him watching her in stillness.

“Of course, Miss Fisher,” he murmured. 

He sat on the sofa to remove them and his socks, watching as she sashayed toward the fireplace rug and settled herself onto it, almost disappearing from view. Tucking his socks inside his shoes and pushing them neatly under the edge of the sofa, he moved around the bed to join her.

The laugh that erupted from him as he saw what waited for him there was loud and joyous. Phryne sat, her arms wrapped around her knees, in the only open space on the rug. The picnic basket sat in the center, and around it there were stacks of books, a small chest, a wooden box of bricks he’d recently seen in the garden, and several other small but heavy items.

“There’s not enough room for you to sit, Jack,” she said, looking up at him, her smile bright and mischievous. “What ever shall we do?”

“Well, I could call Bert and Cec…” he said, doing his best to keep a straight face. The laugh had given up the game already, but he could still play along. And this kind of game was always worth playing.

“Why? Aren’t you up to the challenge?” Phryne’s eyebrows raised and she blinked her eyes, her lips pursing. “Is it your back, darling? I know it’s difficult, getting older…”

Jack slanted a sideways look at her, his eyes narrowing and lips twitching at her gibe. 

“I’m sure I can manage.” 

He bent to lift a stack of books first, making a show of kneeling beside it and flexing his arms as he picked it up, then stood to place the books on the shelf she’d denuded. Standing, he turned back to her—Phryne’s smile was flirting around her mouth, and her eyes were laughing.

Moving next to the chest, he gripped it and lifted. It was heavier than it looked, and he didn’t have to pretend to flex as he straightened with it in his arms.

“Where would you like this?”

Phryne pointed mutely to the space beneath the window on the other side of the room, and Jack obediently took it over, settling it into the spots in the rug that showed where its weight had rested up till now. When he stood again, he caught her with her eyes on his bottom, and it was his turn to smirk.

Three piles of books later, he decided to up the stakes a little. Standing, he stripped off his undershirt—he felt a warm weight in his chest when he heard the small squeak that Phryne emitted—and used it to wipe his face. He wasn’t sweaty, but he felt the fiction added a bit of verisimilitude to the game they were playing. Meeting her eyes over the cloth of the undershirt, he tilted his head.

“All right?”

“Mmm, definitely, Jack.” Phryne had stretched out on her side on the newly cleared rug, and he could see the heat in her gaze as she watched him.

“Just a little more,” he responded, moving closer. He created a stack of Dorothy’s sewing box and several cast-iron pans, the new pile heavy enough that he actually had to work to lift it. The mild warmth of activity from the rest of the lifting became heat in earnest, and he felt himself begin to perspire. Moving to the door, he set the stack in the hall, and then all that was left was the box of bricks.

“Where did you even find these?” He said, squatting beside it to take hold of the box’s lower corners. 

“Oh, I had Mr. B help with those,” she admitted. “I couldn’t lift them by myself.”

“But you think I’ll be able to?” Jack looked over his shoulder at her. She watched, one hand supporting her head, the other splayed on her chest; she’d captured her lower lip with her teeth, and he could feel her gaze running from his shoulders down to his bottom.

“Oh yes, Jack,” she breathed, “I’m sure of it.”

With a grunt, he heaved to his feet. This box really was heavy. He could feel the singing of his arm muscles as the weight of the box dragged against them, and he heard Phryne’s soft intake of breath. Turning, he looked down at her. With a small smile, he lifted the box a little more, curling his biceps upward, then let it down; repeating the motion, he watched as Phryne’s tongue moved out to touch her upper lip. The expression on her face was lustful, and he felt himself harden in response.

“God, Phryne,” he breathed, and her eyes flew up to his. “When you look at me like that, I can’t even think.”

“Put the box down, Jack,” her voice was husky. 

She sat up slowly as Jack turned to set the box on the floor under the window. He straightened and turned back to her, his chest heaving, though not with exertion.

“Come closer, Jack.” He could feel the caress of Phryne’s eyes as he took the two steps that would bring him within touching distance, and her hands lifted languidly to stroke up the backs of his legs as she pushed up to her knees. 

Her hands slid over his bottom, giving his buttocks a squeeze as they traveled to his waist. She stood, pushing her body against his, the softness of her breasts cradling the bulge of his cock against his trousers. 

“You have a beautiful body, Jack Robinson,” she murmured, and her hands stroked up his sides to clasp his ribcage between her palms. 

Jack stood, content to let her touch him however she chose to, enjoying the building pressure at his groin as her clever fingers traced along his ribs and up to his pectoral muscles. Her eyes followed her hands’ progress, and when she dipped her head to lap softly at one of his nipples, he sucked in a breath.

“Phryne,” he breathed. Unable to keep completely still, he let his hands settle softly on her hips.

“My Jack,” she responded, never raising her eyes from her hands, which were now moving over his shoulders, tracing the swells of muscle and the line of his collarbone. 

Stepping to one side, she transferred both hands to one of his arms, and Jack let her go, reaching out to her with only his eyes. She stroked the lines of his arm, one hand trailing down to his wrist, which she lifted, her fingers caressing the palm of his hand as she bent his elbow. Dropping her head again, she used her tongue to trace the vein that ran along the top of his bicep. Jack’s fingers closed around hers without pressure as her mouth continued its journey down his arm to press a kiss to his wrist—his mouth opened slightly at the red lip print she left there. Jack had never considered getting a tattoo before, but he rather wished, in that moment, that the claiming red could be permanent. 

He could feel his breath growing deeper as she withdrew her hand from his, lowering his arm gently back down to hang at his side. Moving around him, she began on his back, and Jack let his head fall forward. She took her time, her hands moving gently along his skin. He felt her hesitate when she found the scabbed-over half-moon marks on his lower back—she would occasionally bloody him during their lovemaking, and he cherished every wound.

“Poor darling,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to those injuries, her tongue caressing the skin around them.

“Fuck.” The oath slipped from Jack’s lips at the sensation of her mouth, and he felt himself grow impossibly harder. It took all of his considerable self-control not to put his hands on his cock—he knew that it wasn’t what she wanted right now. He did wish, though, for something to hold on to—the mantel was too far away, and the bed had no posts, but his knees were weakening as his desire built.

Phryne’s hands slid over his buttocks as she moved around him, squeezing lightly before transferring to his other arm, where she repeated what she’d done before. This time, though, after leaving the print of her lips on his wrist, she used both hands to flatten his fingers, stroking them one by one before settling her mouth over the first one. Jack whimpered a little, watching her use her mouth on his finger, her red lipstick almost gone now so the lips that wrapped around his flesh were fading to a soft, much more personal pink. His focus narrowed to those lips and the feeling of her tongue swirling wetly; she sucked at his finger and he could feel it in his cock.

She held his hand with one of hers, the other sliding up to wrap around his bicep, squeezing lightly. Jack shifted a little, unable to stop himself. He could not remember having been this hard without any actual contact with his cock since before they’d started their sexual relationship. She had made sure that he didn’t need to go without, but there was, he recalled now, something to be said for postponing pleasure.

As if she read his mind, her eyes, which had been closed as she fellated his finger, flashed open. Blinking slowly at him, she gave a final swirl of her tongue and released him; Jack licked suddenly dry lips, waiting to see what she’d do next. 

With a small smile, she slid the hand on his bicep up to the back of his neck, tugging his mouth to hers. She kissed him wildly, her tongue slipping against his and her breast pushing against his arm. Jack leaned sideways to kiss her back, his own mouth just as greedy. His eyes closed in bliss, the lipstick-and-sweetness flavor that was _Phryne_ in his mind joined by something else, a saltiness that might be an echo of his own skin. 

He tried to turn to her, wanting to pull her close, but she laid a hand against his chest and pulled away.

“Not yet, Jack,” she said, and the twinkle of mischief was back in her eyes. “I’m not finished.”

Jack groaned a little. “Phryne, please…”

“Don’t worry, darling,” she murmured as she moved back to stand in front of him again, her hands pressed to his chest, thumbs on his nipples. “I think you’ll like this next part—though probably not more than I will.”

“You’ve been planning this all day, haven’t you?”

“Oh yes, Jack.” Her smile was bright and wicked as her hands began a slow descent to his waist. “All.” She flicked open the button on his trousers. “Day.” The zipper hissed down. “Long.” She tucked her fingers into his trousers and pushed them down his legs, where they pooled at his feet. 

Jack tilted his head at her playfulness, but gasped as her hands molded the hard length of him under the soft cotton of his underwear. 

“Oh,” she breathed as she touched him. “This is magnificent.”

“I’m so happy that I’ve pleased you, Miss Fisher.” Jack’s voice was low, but he was rather glad that it came out so clearly through his clenched teeth. Her hands felt so good! The only thing that would make this better would be…

Phryne looked down as she opened the buttons at the waist of his undershorts. Jack watched the top of her head, her hair falling to obscure her face. He lifted a hand to tuck one side of her silky black bob behind her ear, and she slanted a glance up at him even as she pushed the underwear down his hips and thighs. 

Taking two small steps, Jack kicked his trousers and underthings away, wanting to stand exposed for her. Wanting her to see all of him. They’d been naked together many times, of course, but this felt somehow purposeful. She was examining him in a way that she hadn’t before. They’d both been too busy to take the time. Jack made a mental note to do this same thing for Phryne at some point—he felt powerful and appreciated and beautiful in a way that he wanted to be sure she experienced as well.

Phryne stood close, her hands on his hips. Jack pressed a kiss to her hair, and she flashed a smile up at him before shifting to move around him again. This time, her focus was the lower half of his body, and she stroked warm fingers down his thighs, pressed kisses to the globes of his ass—he smiled slightly at the thought of having lip prints there, branding him as hers. Her hands delved between his legs from behind, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of his scrotum and pressing lightly against his perineum. 

Jack’s fists clenched as he felt his cock twitch, and he sucked in a loud lungful of air, trying to hold off his orgasm. A bead of fluid slid from the tip of his cock, and he could feel every inch of its journey as it traveled down his length. He could imagine the smirk on his beloved’s face, and his own grin had an edge of fierceness to it.

When Phryne had made a full circuit of his body, she stood in front of him again, her hands resting against his stomach.

“Are you enjoying this, Jack?” Her voice was a whisper that he felt against his skin.

“God, Phryne,” he growled, his chest heaving. “ _Yes_.” He lifted his hand to her face again, cupping her cheek. “Are you?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “Very much.” Her eyes on his, she slid her hands down to grasp his cock. 

“Ffffuck,” Jack hissed, his hands landing on her shoulders in a soft clutch. “Oh fuck, that’s…” His eyes closed momentarily as her hands began to move on him, and he dropped his head forward to rest his forehead on hers.

“Good?” 

He could hear her breathing now, and it was almost as labored as his own. 

“So good.”

“Let’s see if I can make it better.” With a swift kiss to his lips, she dropped to her knees, her hands still working his cock. Her eyes on her hands and what they caressed, Phryne leaned in and took his glans between her lips, and Jack both heard and felt her hum of pleasure as she curled her tongue around him.

The stream of obscenities that escaped him was low-voiced and filthy, and he knew that she heard it, because she withdrew long enough to smile up at him before taking him in again. Jack threaded his fingers into her hair, not to control her movements—he’d do his best to let her stay in control tonight—but just to feel the motions of her head as she blew him. Her hands continued to work his length as her mouth pleasured his glans, her tongue sliding along the edge of his foreskin and tracing the lower ridge and the divot at his tip. Jack groaned as she slid her head sideways to bathe the length of him with her tongue, and he cursed again when she pulled each of his testicles into the warmth of her mouth. When she pulled back, her hands working him strongly, and pursed her lips to blow air across the skin she’d made so wet, his hands clenched.

“I’m close, Phryne,” he gritted out. 

In response, Phryne stood and pulled her hands away. Jack whimpered as his hands fell from her hair to his sides.

“Don’t touch that, Jack,” she murmured, looking down his body at his cock. Its color was deep and angry, and she licked her lips. “Just hold on one more minute.” 

Taking a step back, Phryne crossed her arms at her waist and gathered up handfuls of her dress. She pulled it up and over her head, revealing all of her pale skin.

Jack could see that she was as excited by this game as he had been—her thighs were slick and shiny with moisture and her nipples tightly furled. She looked at him with eyes dark with pleasure and stepped close, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Now. Lift _me_ , Jack,” she demanded with a smile, and he grinned.

“My pleasure.” He widened his stance, readying himself, then grasped her waist and lifted, his arms singing once more with the effort.

As he pulled her off the ground, Phryne pushed against his shoulders and spread her legs to wrap them around his waist. When she was up high, looking down at his face, she slid a hand between them to position him at her entrance. Jack lowered her, his flesh impaling hers, until he could reach her mouth. His kiss was animalistic, mouth wide against hers, tongue pushing against hers. Sliding his hands to cup her bottom, he began curling his arms as he had done earlier, lifting and lowering her body along his.

She was very wet, and his cock slid easily within her. He could feel Phryne’s pubis dragging against his stomach each time she rose and fell against him, and when she began to mutter, he knew that he was managing to hit the right spots. Jack sped up, adding a thrust of his hips with each downward slide of her body, and Phryne’s arms wrapped around his neck as she cursed long and inventively into his mouth.

After a few minutes, Jack’s orgasm was building quickly and his arms were beginning to tire—he could feel the muscles shaking with effort. He dropped his head to Phryne’s shoulder, bent his knees, and curled his back, letting his thighs take over the thrusting and his arms take a rest.

Phryne’s curses had turned to whimpers now, mostly formed of his name, a high-pitched chanting that he found as erotic as her moans. Her hand was fisted in his hair, and her mouth was open against his shoulder—he could feel the edge of her teeth set against his skin, and he redoubled his efforts, speeding up in hopes that what she needed to come was more power.

The idea backfired, though, when her fingernails pricked his scalp and her teeth grasped the ridge of muscle at the base of his neck. His orgasm roared through him, and his back curled more as he struggled to stay upright, Phryne clinging to him like a limpet. Her soft scream of pleasure reassured him, even through the mindless haze of his climax, and he felt her shake wildly against him.

Breathing heavily, he lowered them both to the hearth rug beside their picnic basket, never withdrawing from Phryne’s body. She relaxed enough to let her head fall back against the rug, and Jack covered her mouth with his, this kiss far more tender than the last.

Raising his head, he looked down at her satisfied face and laughed softly.

“I take it that went at least mostly to plan?”

“Mmm, Jack, it is lovely of you to let me have my way.”

“Well, as you’d been considering it all day, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but cooperating.”

“Ha,” she said, her hand in his hair now softly stroking. 

“Are you intimating that I am not cooperative, Miss Fisher?” Jack smiled slyly as he stroked his own hand over to cup her breast.

“You do have your moments, darling.” 

Jack kissed her again. “I believe there was talk of a picnic?”

“Oh yes! And you requested strawberries, I understand?”

“I did.” He kissed her again, longer and more deeply, before pulling away. “And I have plans for those strawberries.”

“I do like a man with a plan, inspector,” she drawled, rolling up to her knees to open the basket.

He stroked a hand down her naked flank, and she shot him a grin.

“Dinner first,” she chided. 

“Probably wise.” He responded, giving her a little pinch on the bottom. Her smiling yelp made him laugh. “Come on, then, Miss Fisher,” he said, sitting up to peer over her shoulder into the basket. “I need to keep up my strength.”

Phryne pulled out a bowl of strawberries, their flesh ripe and red, and their scent sweet. 

“That you do, inspector,” she said, her eyes flashing as she considered them. “That you do.”


End file.
